A Dreamer's Worlds

Is There Anybody Out There?

 Sunlight pierced through the broken windows, motes of dust dancing in the beams. He groaned, trying to shove away the pounding in his head. All he felt was pain, so long as he ignored the emptiness.

The smells hit him. Something, maybe him, had vomited. The stench of alcohol almost covered it up, but it was trading one bad smell for another. Wine turned to vinegar, rats nesting in the counter, and the rotting corpse in the corner didn't help the situation.

A blanket covered him. The shop owner was dead, unless the corpse belonged to an unlucky customer. Who had put the blanket over him? Some guardian angel finally pitying the lonesome mortal?

He sat up, regretted it, laid back down. His hair was sticky with liquor, something with mint if the mint on a nearby bottle was any kind of clue.

He couldn't even remember how he got there. It almost didn't matter; it wasn't like there would be any consequences. Still, to fall asleep near a corpse meant that he'd gotten very, very drunk.

He squinted at the light and sat up again, fighting away the bouts of nausea. Definitely my puke over there, he thought. He rubbed his head, wishing the headache would go away.

At least the blanket was soft. It was light blue, reminding him of the blankets the hospital would wrap the baby boys in. It felt clean. He shoved his face in it and discovered that it even smelled clean. He felt bad about getting it dirty, but what could he do? Washing clothes was a lot harder when there wasn't a functional washing machine anywhere.

He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and staggered to a stand. He almost fell, but the counter was there to help him balance. He wished he hadn't gotten drunk, wished that at least he hadn't gotten black out drunk. He'd missed his only chance to see another human being, or just something intelligent enough to find a clean blanket to put over him.

He needed a bath. There was a pond nearby, but he wasn't sure if it was clean enough to make a difference.

He managed to walk out of the liquor store, stepping over the arm of the corpse. He didn't check to see how they'd died; it didn't matter anymore. Everyone but him was dead, one way or another.

Another corpse leaned against the building. Skin had been ripped off its neck. He glanced at the door. A key rested in the lock, a reddish lanyard dangling from it. He must've torn the lanyard off the body; the skin on the lanyard matched the corpse.

He adjusted the blanket, rubbing his cheek on it. It was so clean! Nothing in the city was clean anymore, unless you broke into homes or stole from laundromats and dry cleaners. He'd never done that, but he thought about it a lot. He was thinking about it now. If a clean blanket felt this good, imagine how clean clothes would feel!

He had other things to think about, though. He'd gone into a liquor store, drank a good amount of the contents, possibly had a tantrum while under the influence, and passed out. Some time after that, someone had wandered in and put a blanket on him.

He frowned. The timeline was useless. He started on his way to the pond, dodging tree roots and the occasional crashed car. He couldn't remember how far the pond was. Hopefully it wasn't too far; the schnapps in his hair stunk of more than just peppermint.

He just wished that he knew who put the blanket on him, that he'd been able to appreciate a human presence.

It was just so lonely being the last man on Earth.