Not Alone

1

The earth feels bigger with only one person living in it. You notice things. Like how you can see more stars in the sky without the city lights. Like how it becomes harder to escape your thoughts when you're by yourself. How deafening silence can really be.

I used to be terrified of being alone, but now I reluctantly welcome the emptiness. Everything seemed frightening then, like how the night sky felt like a black hole that could swallow me up at any moment. But now I have accepted the fact that it could happen.

I've become familiar with the sound of my boots against the ground; I spend most of my time walking, nowadays. I've also learned to do routine checks behind my shoulder to make sure I'm not being followed. I make sure to stop every once in a while to scan the area; The Others could be anywhere.

There had been talk of a wide variety of theories of how the world would end. Aliens, a zombie apocalypse, a widespread sickness. You name it. But The Others aren't anything like we'd anticipated. They latch onto you, and wait; waiting for the right moment to end your life. They destroy you from the inside, and work their way out. They had been walking among us, able to blend in with rest of the world.

Since their arrival, the human race had been wiped out. Somehow I survived the killing spree. I used to think of it as some kind of miracle. But I've come to know that surviving was not a miracle, but a curse. Those who had died due to the invasion are the lucky ones.

The reoccurring idea of just ending it once and for all crosses through my mind. But something tugs at my conscience; a hope that maybe there is someone else out there. A hope that I might not be alone in this world, after all. But I've gotten better at ignoring both of those thoughts, and push them into the back of my mind.

Music would sure make all this walking less boring. But not having music, although a tragedy, is the least of my problems. I need to find ways to get food. And I'm not the best hunter.

I could say that I have plenty of knowledge and experience when it comes to hunting. But I would be lying. Animals hate me, just as much as I hate them; I'm not some Disney Princess. The sight of blood and dead things makes me want to sit in a corner and cry. I don't know how to shoot a bow, nor do I know how to make one. My aim isn't the greatest, either. Surviving in the wilderness isn't my forte.

But grass is edible, right? Grass is easy to get. It's easy to prepare. Grass is plentiful. It doesn't run away when I try to get it. It doesn't bleed. It tastes.... Okay. Gosh, I wish I was good at hunting.

Knowing the sun won't set for hours, I press on. I swing my pack over my shoulder, tucking my dagger into my belt loop. Tightening my ponytail, I make my way down the usual route. But to where am I going? Even I don't know the answer to that.

In fear of being captured by The Others, I tend to not stay in one place for very long. Maybe if I go a little bit further, I'll find another person, I lie to myself on a daily basis. That phrase is what keeps me moving. It keeps me from being killed.

I know for a fact that there is no other person on this planet. But a part of me leans toward the possibility of me not being alone, after all. It's the part of me that is the most lonely. It's the part of me that's starving for human interaction. You never really appreciate something, until you can't have it, anymore. You don't realize how valuable the people around you are, until you can never see them again.