Alone

Year One

Hannah sat on the cracked steps of a cottage, her hands trembling around a can of peaches. The cold wind whipped through the small town she had discovered three days ago. She stared at the sky—an unforgiving shroud of gray that never seemed to lift.

It had been months since Hannah had heard another voice or seen another human, months since she had awoken to a vacant world— months, since the day she realized she was absolutely and utterly alone.

The last thing she remembered was driving home from the restaurant she worked, speeding to escape the incoming storm clouds piling on the horizon. She was exhausted, having just worked another double to barely afford the rent on her one-bedroom studio in the middle of nowhere.

She had been relying on her GPS to navigate the traffic when a national alert flashed across her screen. The radio followed, cutting in and out with urgent broadcasts.

That’s when the sky cracked. She screamed, watching in horror as it split open to release a blinding, swallowing light.

That was Hannah’s last memory before she awoke to a strange static vibrating through her skull, yanking her from unconsciousness. She was lying in a wooded ditch, the dirt cold beneath her back, with no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. Disoriented and panicked, she cried out into the silence. For days, she scoured nearby towns, peering into homes and following shadows that turned out to be nothing at all. Human life was absent. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Just gone.

Her days became a harsh routine: walking, searching for food, trying to suppress her thoughts while walking some more, and finding a place to wait out the night. Her hands blistered from prying open cans and windows. Her legs ached from walking miles each day in worn-out sneakers. Each day had been the same—lonely and grim.

But the nights… the nights were much worse. The quiet world suddenly became loud with the same static hum that woke her. It followed her from place to place, like a phantom waiting in the dark, growing louder the longer she remained in one location. It was as if the hum wanted to keep her moving, to warn her against staying still.

And so, she obeyed.

As the months passed, the world around her began to shift. The hum was no longer the worst of it. She would hear distant explosions in the dead of night, the earth shuddering beneath her feet. Towns she stumbled upon had been reduced to rubble, rivers dried to cracks in the landscape. It was as though the world itself was undoing what was left of it.

It became difficult for Hannah to keep track of the days as she struggled to cope. Her world was a foreign place, one where she merely existed. Alone.

Year Two

Hannah had grown accustomed to life on the move—so much so that staying in one place for too long caused her to feel restless. Her days were spent wandering forests and fields, crossing dry riverbeds, and exploring ghost towns. She rummaged for food and relentlessly searched for signs of other survivors before settling on a place to spend the night.

The only possession she carried was her pack, which she kept as lightweight as possible. Once a random collection of tools and canned goods, the pack had been carefully stripped down to the essentials: a knife, a first-aid kit, water purification tablets, one canned good, and a flashlight—the bare minimum.

As the year progressed, her physical appearance changed dramatically. Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of her reflection and hardly recognize herself. Her once-soft hands were calloused, and her scrawny arms had become lean and muscular. The sun had darkened her skin, and her once-soft features were weathered and freckled. She didn’t look like herself, but she felt stronger than ever.

While Hannah no longer felt helpless, her loneliness persisted like an awful, haunting presence. She was determined to find someone—anyone else out there. She sometimes thought she heard voices—distant laughter carried on the breeze. The faintest sounds would entice her to follow, only to find herself alone again.

Year Three

Hannah’s days had settled into a strict routine. She rose at dawn, stretched, and ate a simple breakfast of dried berries and nuts. After breakfast, she would pack up and commence her journey, with no specific destination other than forward. A task once driven by terror and desperation now felt purposeful and fulfilling.

While loneliness remained, it had dulled into something manageable. There was even a strange comfort in her solitude. She found joy in small discoveries—especially when stumbling upon remnants of what now felt like an old world: a bookstore with walls lined with novels or an old farmhouse with its pantry full of jarred honey. She adhered to her strict “travel light” rule, enjoying her findings before moving on and leaving them where she found them. But she would linger a bit longer in these places, imagining the lives of those who had vanished.

Hannah had gained strength in her body and sharpness in her mind. Things she had never imagined she could do before had become second nature. She could start a fire in under five minutes and had learned to navigate by stars. She found solace in her daily routine and the challenge to survive alone in this world.

Year Four

Hannah thrived.

Her days were busy and satisfying. She would wake feeling energized and rested, no longer bothered by the static hum of sundown.

Over the years, she developed many skills driven by her eagerness to learn and improve herself. She taught herself to sew using fabric scraps she collected during her travels and repaired her boots with salvaged leather. And she read. Constantly, she read, immersing herself in anything she could find to expand her mind.

She enjoyed her evenings most of all. Once she had chosen a place to settle in for the night, she would sit by a fire with a book and read aloud to herself. Sometimes, she would write in a journal she had found, recording her thoughts, triumphs, and sorrows.

Though the static remained, she no longer feared the dark. It had faded into background noise, as constant and unremarkable as the wind.

Hannah had changed. She had never felt more confident, more capable. She was becoming one with this new world—her new world. She was surviving. Thriving, alone.

Year Five

Hannah stood motionless, staring at the ground in disbelief. She rubbed her eyes and knelt before it—a footprint in the mud far too large to be her own.

After a while, she shook her head and continued to walk, chalking up the experience to an overactive imagination. Yet, the image haunted her every step. Had she imagined it? She was about a mile out when she decided to turn back.

For hours, she scoured the area in search of additional signs. Upon examining the ground, she found trails of broken branches and faint tracks. Her heart was mixed with both hope and fear as she followed them.

Then she saw it.

Smoke. It was rising just over the hill in the near distance. Her breath hitched as she quickened her pace, her pack bouncing against her back. After cresting the hill, she saw them.

People.

A cluster of figures moved about, their laughter faint but unmistakable. At least fifty of them—men, women, and even children.

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears as she fell to her knees. She watched them, unable to look away. They were there. They were real. She wasn’t alone.

She stared from a distance, unable to move. She couldn’t believe it. This was all she had hoped for, all she had been determined to find all this time. The shock was too much, weighing heavily in her gut. She needed a moment to fully process before revealing herself. From the shadows, she observed, emotions warring within her.

After several hours, Hannah finally rose to her feet. She took a long, deep breath, shouldered her pack, and cast one final, lingering look at the community before she turned away.