Jonah

The last person on earth celebrates their own birthday.

I’m 49 today. Jonah spoke into the tape recorder, thumb on the red RECORD tab.

I’ve been here by myself five and a half years now. Long enough I can’t remember what started this whole mess. I can’t remember why the earth suddenly stood still — as us dumbfounded humans shuffled around it. It was something about global warming, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was the war. That final ‘big one.’ It was prob’ly a mixture of things in a shit-storm caused by the government and the people too afraid (or too stupid) to do anything about it. Damned government. Damned people.

People. Only reason I remember what one looks like is the mirrors I pass when I’m walking through houses ‘been untouched for ages. Or the photographs that made it through the fires that lit up the world in the beginning of all this. This apocalypse. My apocalypse. I say mine because, well, it IS mine. I’ve learned to be OK with it. Only one other option far as I can see it. And I ain’t taking the easy way out. I never did before and ain’t about to start now. My wife always said I was stubborn cause of it. She didn’t understand pride. Hell, I didn’t understand it. Even when it got me into trouble.

My wife. She was a spit-fire kinda’ woman. She’d shut me up and set me straight ‘fore I even knew what was happenin’. She was a beautiful woman. She gave me two beautiful daughters. I been thinkin’ ‘bout them a lot today. Wonderin’ what they’d be like today, if they could stick it out being the last people in the world. In this world at least. I gather there’s other beings or creatures and such living in some other galaxies far from here. Maybe they did this to us. Aliens. You would think that’s about as far-fetched an idea one could think up, but it’s been a long five and a half years. My minds’ had plenty of time to think up its own special kinda’ nonsense.

There ain’t a day gone by that I haven’t thought up some unnecessary nonsense. I even went crazy for about a year or so, of course that’s a self-diagnosis. But I don’t know what else you’d call it when a grown man draws faces on a stranger’s tube-socks and throws ’em on his hands like puppets. What’s even crazier — is that I talked to those damned socks all day and night. I wasn’t sleeping much then. My sock friends were surprisingly acceptable comp’ny in the middle of the night when there was nothing to do ‘cept tossin’ and turnin.’ And then one day I heard Mrs. Sock telling Mr. Sock that I’d lost my ever lovin’ mind if I really thought they were talkin’ back to me. That’s when I took an old pair of white-handled, rusty bladed scissors straight through the both of ’em. Sobered me up with no chance for relapse.

Maybe I’m still a little nutty. Being on your own’ll do that to a person. Now I don’t mean- you’re wife left ya, took the dog and the brats, drove away in your best truck and now you have to hitch a ride to work- kind of alone. I mean simply alone. Ain’t no one for miles. Ain’t no one to hitch a ride from or call up on the phone. Ain’t no wife comin’ back to ya and no brats to care for. Hell, I don’t even think there’s a god to pray to. But I still do it. Not sure if he’s listenin’, but I’ll be damned if I ain’t doin’ my best to get his attention.

A sign from god. I just figured out what I’m askin’ for this year. I ain’t had a real birthday gift since so far back I’d never find where I stashed it in my memory. It’s prob’ly filed somewhere between the smell of my wife’s perfume and the color of lipstick she was wearin’- last time I ever saw her all dolled up. It can send a man on a downward spiral real quick- forgettin’ things like that. But, if I had to take a guess, I’d say my last real birthday gift was a good one. My wife and kids always made up somethin’ thoughtful and wrapped it up, lookin’ like a professional gift wrapper handed off the package straight to me.

Last year, I gave myself a pretty good present. I was walkin’ through the Randall’s place — I know it’s their place ’cause I found the deed to their house in an old wooden desk in their basement — and I stumbled on a real treat. You. You were a beauty, sittin’ in a scrambled desk drawer under a buncha’ useless never-minds. ‘Course I popped ya open and there was no blasted tape inside. Some things are hard to come by these days. Everything’s been used up, blown up, or just plain disappeared. Same goes for my energy. I just don’t have much anymore. Can’t see myself needing too much that I’d have to go on a rampage, riflin’ through junk that don’t belong to me anyhow.

Matter of fact, I was just lookin’ for a pen so I could write out a new calendar. I write one every year so I don’t miss special days. My birthday. My wife and kids’ birthdays. Anniversary. Somethin’ changed inside me when I found you. A beat-up, old tape recorder. Silver, like the wedding band I slipped on my wife’s finger a lifetime ago. My silver bullet. Something to give me hope. For what? I’ll be damned if I know. But still, I went out searchin.’ Kinda’ like a quest for somethin’ I didn’t even know I wanted… til I wanted it. And would ya believe, I found a tape in the 2nd house I searched!? That was a year ago.

Every day since then I been wrackin’ my mind wonderin’ what the hell I plan to do with you. It doesn’t matter anyway, ain’t nobody around to hear it. So I just dropped you- and the tape- into my army-green shoulder bag. The cloth is torn and the color on the strap is fadin’, but it don’t bother me none. It serves its purpose. Carries my gun and all my knives. I’ve used the same Jet Black pocket knife that my daddy gave me since I was ten years old. Never let nobody take it from me.

Only reason I’m alives’ cause I’m good at huntin’. And I ain’t afraida’ killin’. I’ve killed bears…deer…mountain lions…people. Don’t matter to me. If I gotta feed my family- or keep ’em safe- I’ll do what needs done. There comes a time when we all have to die, even the ones we live to protect. That’s somethin’ I’ve had to come to terms with. Can’t keep blamin’ myself. But who else can I blame? Ain’t no one else here.

I can look out for miles. I can walk for days — or even years, and I ain’t gonna find another soul out there. That’s why I got so excited I damn-near fell over when I found this beauty; my tape recorder. This is my newest plan, my only plan. I’m guessin’ there’s nobody else in this washed-up old world. It’s been too long since I’ve seen another person to believe any different.

But I got a little piece of hope in my hand now, and I ain’t about to waste it. I’m gonna pick the best spot I can find, and I’m gonna leave my hope right there. Maybe pass it on to somebody else needin’ it. So, if there’s anyone out there- and you stumble onto this tape recorder and hear my godforsaken voice trapped inside- go out and find me. I’m still here — holdin’ onto hope I ain’t really all alone in this. Oh, and don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday.

Amber Shreves is a stay-at-home wife with a passion for writing. She has an Associate’s Degree in Arts and Humanities, which she obtained in hopes of becoming a better, more well-rounded writer. She has just recently started sharing her writing on blogs and submitting to magazines/contests, and looks forward to a future doing what she loves.

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