That smell, that God-awful smell is everywhere. You'd think eventually I would get used to it, but I just can't. It smells like rotting garbage left out in the sun too long. That's what I tell myself it is, garbage that was never taken away. But deep down I know the truth. It's the bodies of millions; maybe even billions of people who are lying dead, everywhere.
The silence is next thing that I can't stand. There are no more cars honking with their crappy music blaring, no more people idly chatting away on their cell phones, no more random conversations at all. It's just completely quiet, unless you count the screaming. Still, I am subject to those terrible shrill sounds every day. Its freaky waking up to all of the screams, and it becomes worse when I realize I'm also screaming.
I keep praying that this is just a dream, one of those elaborate dreams that seem so real that you wake up panting in a cold sweat. But the longer this goes on, reality begins to sink in. It's been nearly two weeks since it happened. I just wish I knew what it was. The night before, everything seemed normal; no mention of a nuclear meltdown or chemical warfare on the news, no extra concern for a disease outbreak. Nothing was out of the ordinary at all. I think that's what makes all of this so surreal. No one was prepared for disaster.
I just keep wondering how I lived through it all and why the others did not.
I hate waiting for help that I know is not coming. I hate trying to pretend that I am meant to be alive, when I know that I am not. I hate being here, all alone.
It's funny, but in the movies when something like this occurs, there are survivors, a group of about five on average. They're always gorgeous, in their late teens to early 20's. There's always the smart one, the stupid one, the sarcastically funny one, along with the potential lovers. They all work so hard together to persevere against the hour and a half of whatever looming threats the movie studio throws at them.
Real life though, no such luck. The only survivors I've run across are nearly as frightening as the dead. I get it we are all in a huge shock from this, but the other survivors seem to be absolutely crazy. They walk around mumbling to themselves, screaming, cursing, and flailing about while vandalizing and looting various places. And the things they take are so bizarre. I see them carrying out those mammoth sized television sets and lamps. I just can't figure out why, since there is no electricity anymore. Do they really think that the power is just going to come back on and they will be able to catch the rest of the game or their favorite programs? It just seems so odd to me, grabbing these expensive things. A month ago, I can understand, but today, who cares that they have a Coach purse and wear Gucci, exactly who are they trying to impress anyways?
I at least tried to be sensible with the items I took. When I looted the grocery store, I grabbed as many canned goods, bottled waters, and anything else that I could grab. I literally stole the shopping cart and made trip after trip until I nearly cleaned the tiny store out. There wasn't a whole lot of time before the infection spread in the store, and I couldn't waste any time dawdling. As I suspected, the bodies seemed to be decomposing at a very fast rate, but too slow to disappear altogether. I wonder how much time it will take for the bodies, or at least the smell, to finally go away.
I wasn't always alone in this nightmarish world; I had a close acquaintance at one time. It was an elderly woman I began talking with; in fact, I would have even considered us friends. When we met, I think we were both relieved to have found another normal living human being, and under those circumstances, that was all the bonding material we needed. We had spent the past eight days together. We ate and swapped stories about our previous lives, planned survival techniques, and tried to find out what had happened.
She had often talked about her husband of 60 years, whom she lost in the disaster. I suppose that was what probably drove her to join him in the end. I found her the next morning, blood still oozing from her demolished head. There was a quick, blood spattered note saying that she was so sorry, but she couldn't live like this anymore. She couldn't wait for the disease to find her. Then at the end of the note, she wished me good luck. For some strange reason, that last line made me laugh.
I began to think about my life and the times when I truly thought I needed luck; like trying to pass that Algebra final or hoping that I might make the state track meet. Those were the proper times to wish someone 'good luck'. I am so far beyond needing luck in this world. I need a miracle. The more I thought about it, the harder I began laughing. The sound of hysterical laughter echoed around the abandoned room. I haven't heard my laugh in so long. In fact, it scared me nearly as much as the screaming. My laughter eventually gave way to crying. Soon I was sitting there in complete silence as I listened to the screams. Once again, I was alone and losing my sanity in this world filled with rotting garbage.
