He woke up very early, even before the sunrise. He walked around the apartment, opened the cabinets and drawers, stole a pack of cigarettes and sniffed at Marien's panties. She was sleeping in the bedroom next door. She was young and pretty. He could love her, if he knew how to. There was no room for love or tenderness in the Postman's heart. He was dry as a dead tree, as barren as that dead world.
He heard the door creaking and Marien peeping out.
"I heard the footsteps," she said. "For one moment, I thought it might be Gottlieb's."
"Hope is a curse", the Postman said.
They stood there, in the penumbra, eyeing each other.
"I have to go," he said, at last.
"Let me fix you breakfast, then you can leave."
Marien prepared a strong black coffee and served some bread with jam.
"We don't know what we'll do when the food is over," she said.
"You can always hunt and gather, like in the good old days," the Postman said.
"I suppose".
"Why don't you come with me?" The Postman staggered.
Marien raised her deep blue eyes and stared him. There was a strange glow in them.
"What for? Why would I do that?"
"Just wondering ..."
"What is there for me out there?"
"The same you got here; nothing."
YOU ARE READING
Notes from the End of the World
HorrorThe Collectors Guild hired him to be the Postman, to gather the notes that will help the humankind to have a deeper understanding on how and why the world ended. Nobody knows anything for sure; the only certainty is that it's really dangerous out th...
