Tales of the Apocalypse, #3
Two years since the apocalypse.
One year since the last sighting of another human.
Six months since the last animal had passed by.
There had never been many animals around.
The man, not a farmer, tried to take care of the garden as best he could.
If he failed, he would starve.
Not that he didn’t.
Fail.
And starve.
Day after day, the routine was the same: getting water, taking care of the vegetables, foraging.
Day after day, the man pondered whether it made any sense to go on and what for.
In the early hours of what felt like a Sunday, the man saw movement in the distance.
Not much, as whatever that was had also spotted him, and was in as much amazement as he was.
He picked part of his gear from the floor and began walking towards that figure.
The figure also walked towards him.
As they approached they both realized they weren’t alone, that there was still life, perhaps only a bit scattered.
They both started smiling when they could see each other’s face, and they both cried when they could see each other’s smile.
They started running towards each other, arms wide open, laughing uncontrollably.
When only a few feet separated them, the man pulled out a big knife and stabbed the stranger in the belly.
The body fell slowly to the ground, face still washed in tears, but now for a different reason.
Staring at the body, the man suddenly questioned his sanity: why?
He looked around frantically, as the body exhaled at his feet.
He looked at his house, in the distance, and questioned why he wasn’t there instead.
Looking back at the body, he realized how foolish, how silly, how stupid this all had been.
Why had he come here, why had he run towards that stranger only to stab someone such a long way from home?
But oh, how he craved for some meat…
