To Whoevers Listening

Fourteen : Happy Dooms Day

I stay up all night and at 9 am the stranger – David – is still asleep, so I stay in the live room and continue to play music while I wait for him to wake up. I choose a song that I've loved for a long time and click it on to play. Before the melody begins, I lean in to the mic to speak.

"My names Moira and to whoevers listening, this ones for you.” I say. “Happy dooms day, people."

I rise out of my chair and leave the live room to go down to where the boy is sleeping.

"Hey," I call softly, then nudge him with my finger. "Hey, dude, wake up."

The boy shocks awake, his eyes flying open, and shoots a hand forward to grab my wrist. I stare down at him with wide eyes until he lets me go.

"Sorry," he mumbles and sits up, running a hand through the bed razzled mess of his short, brown hair.

I take three big steps back from him.

“It's fine.” I say.

He swings his legs over the side of the lounge and rubs a hand down his face, then looks up at me. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

I shake my head.

“Right, cause why would you when you have a stranger in the next room?” he asks, rhetorically. “Hey, is there any chance you have any coffee?”

“There's a jar of instant on the kitchen bench.” I say and nod my head towards the doorway on the otherside of the room. “Help yourself.”

He thanks me and jumps up to make his way to the kitchen. I trail fairly close behind him and watch as he gets a mug out of the top cupboard and measures out his teaspoons of coffee.

“Do you want some?” he asks. I shake my head. He sets the jar back down.

When he's poured hot water and milk from the fridge into his mug, he leans back against the bench and takes a sip. He closes his eyes in caffeinated bliss.

“God, it's been just a little over a week and it feels like I haven't had this stuff in months.” he says, then takes another larger sip. “I guess I should have savored it better before.”

“How are things down there?” I ask, jerking my head in the direction of the town.

He stares at me from over the rim of his mug.

“Bad.” Is all he says. “How long have you been up here?”

“Since last Saturday. I've been stuck since before it started.”

He shakes his head. “No, you haven't. This started in America three weeks ago. I don't think they even knew it had spread to another continent until people started trying to rip each others throats out.”