The Grass is Greener on the Other Side

  John Millberry wasn't the type of man to believe in apocalypses. Even when it was happening, he still denied the existence of the chaos around him. He simply hunkered down in his bunker as the chaos ensued. The next morning, he woke up and poured himself a cup of coffee, nothing more than dirtied brown water. He sat down at his little kitchen table and unfolded a newspaper, not a new edition though. They seemed to have stopped delivering his paper, he had noticed. He looked up to the grey sky, not from a window as you would think, this was merely the half of his home that was blown away in the explosions. John Millberry walked over to his closet and opened the one remaining door. He quickly pulled off his robe and replaced it with his jeans and white t-shirt. He closed the door and whistled a tune as he walked outside, no door there to open or close. He walked up the sidewalk, what was left of it at least, and stopped at his neighbor's house. It was reduced to a pile of ash and rubble, the remains of a child's toy was pathetically trying to be bright in this dark world. His song vanished, carried away by a breeze smelling of ash and death. His smile faltered and fell away. Reality came crashing down on him.

John Millberry was alone. Simply put, everyone else was gone. John Millberry believed in apocalypses now. Oh, did he believe. He was alone and knew that whatever happened was blocked out and he had refused to let the gravity of the situation get to him. He had watched with blank eyes and a numb mind before he realized that it was all over. There was no more life here. He could very well be the last living human. He fell to his knees as he took in the sights surrounding him. Smoldering homes. Dead, blackened grass. Cars left in driveways and on the side of the road, some crushed, but all left a varying grey to black color. They looked like the remnants of some lost civilization. Although they really are new relics of the past due to the lack of humans around. John reached up and covered his face to hide the morose sight. His hands came away wet with tears that he was confused about having. Why cry when there was no one left to mourn. He shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind. If he was to cry, then it would be for the loss of all his friends and the future that used to be so bright for this world. John Millberry picked himself up and turned away from the cul-de-sac of doom. He went searching for other survivors, his hope like a candle flickering strongly in the dark. John knew that he couldn't walk into the city as it would take him twenty whole minutes by car. It would take at least a full day before he got to the vast concrete jungle. John stopped walking, his faith in himself fading quickly. He was stuck in a rut trying to figure out a solution for this inescapable problem. Almost as if some higher power had read his mind, John looked to his left and spotted a bicycle amongst the concrete and wood bits. The debris was quickly moved aside and the bike was standing next to John. He examined it for any dismantling damage. Surprisingly, there wasn't anything significantly wrong with the bicycle. He hopped up and wobbled a little as the bike rolled forward slowly. He smiled when he managed to balance on the bike. It had been at least twenty years since he had last ridden a bicycle. John directed the bike out of his neighborhood and onto the freeway. He sadly glanced at each empty husk that would have been used to drive back and forth. As he passed some vehicles, he could see a small fire still burning strong, but the promise of it ending was also shown. John looked past the now useless automobiles and kept moving forward. It took a few hours, but John had finally reached the city. It was just as desolate as his neighborhood. He peered into the window of his office building. It was hard to see very much due to the ash build-up on the windows. He tried the door, which opened and went inside. The office was set up just like the day before, seemingly untouched besides a few spilt pens and scattered papers, almost as if it didn't receive the memo about the mass attack on the city. He wandered around the office a little more before he sighed. It doesn't bother him that the office is now out of order. It wasn't that great of a job. Sure, all of his coworkers were nice, but realistically, who wants to sit at a desk in tiny cubicle surrounded by miserable people. He was miserable in that cubicle as well, he never wanted that job and had promised himself that he would get enough money and then leave that horrid place. Habits die hard he supposes. He never left and followed his true passion of working in a toy shop. He loved watching children find that perfect toy that made their eyes light up, even some adults would linger a little too long on a certain toy, such as a toy car or a plastic horse and barn. That dream was no more, seeing as how there was only dust and ash to make happy. And if he remembered correctly, ash and dust couldn't feel emotions. He moved on, his search for survivors living on.