Disclaimer: I did not write this. This belongs to a friend who wrote this for class and warned me with: “ a) the assignment was to write a story that included as many shocking, gross, or cliché things… such as drugs, cannibalism, zombies etc. the teacher wanted us to get it all out in one assignment so she never has to read it again during the semester… i get the point, but it fucking sucked as a writing assignment cuz i did not wanna write it 2) i wrote the first half pretty drunk and late at night, i wrote the second half when i had zero time left before it was due so it ended kinda rushed and it is utter tripe.”
But I oddly liked it and decided to post it here, if you are weak stomached, I suggest you skip this post.
(In other me-related news, the EEG report was “normal” so.. yaaaay!)
Despite all humanity’s efforts to destroy the world, we didn’t cause it. It wasn’t global warming or nuclear holocaust. It did not happen as any religion predicted, there was no rapture, no anti-Christ, no great prophet, no great war. All our technology and knowledge was not enough to stop the shower of meteors that hit our moon. We watched as our moon’s orbit changed; like a turd going down a toilet bowl it circled closer and closer each revolution.
Under martial law, order was maintained… for a short time. I used that time to store the best foods I could to get me through the last week. I traded stock from the grocery store I owned to trade with Larry, the pawn shop owner next door. I stocked up on guns and ammo to defend myself with, though I found myself wondering why.
“Drivin’ to the coast to spend the last days with my kid,” Larry told me as I helped load his SUV with food and beer. “Where you goin’?”
“Staying here,” I mumbled.
“Your family around here?”
“No,” I stated.
Larry began on some speech about how I should spend my last days with those who matter, that there was no point in holding onto grudges at the end. I nodded, pretending to listen, pretending his speech at all applied to me. He left me feeling as if he had had a positive effect on my life, but the truth was I didn’t care.
In the following days the moon changed the waves’ patterns. Tsunamis swept away our coast line. I assume Larry went with them.
As we watched the destruction ensue chaos overtook us. It didn’t take long for the military to fall apart. Our armed forces grew tired of spending their last days killing. They dissolved, choosing to give up on patriotism and their job in the hopes of spending one last moment with a loved one.
Looting was rampant. I left my store unlocked and wide open. No sense in trying to preserve it. It was of no use to me.
Soon the electricity and water went out. We weren’t sure exactly how long was left, but assumed it couldn’t be much longer than a day or two.
I placed a sign in front of my house, it simply read, “12 GUAGE SHOTGUN!” No one touched my lawn.
Everything fell apart, our society schismed. People sheltered themselves in churches and prayer groups that were burnt down by angry rioters. Basic animal instincts took over. Love, hate, and anger were no longer hidden.
From my window I watched orgies and murders. I ate a leg of lamb as a woman slit the throat of a man as he fucked her. As I ate my butter-lemon asparagus, I watched as blood gushed from his jugular in the middle of the streets.
Knowing the end is coming makes you think. What do you want? What matters to you? What is important? What have you never done that you have always wanted to do? How do you want it to end?
I asked myself, “Why does it matter?” I could sit and dream. I could try to fight my way home. I could show up on my ex-wife’s doorstep screaming to her of my undying love. But no matter her response, we would still be dead. No, it did not really matter; I was content to watch the world fall apart from my window.
There is something comforting in knowing you are the last. No one will ever experience what you have experienced, no one will see what you’ve seen, and no one will love what you’ve loved. Humanity has grown, evolved, fought to end with you… was it worth it?
On a night when the moon was the size of my fist, I sat eating lobster and wondering what I had never done. It was difficult. I had lived, I had loved, I had lost. What was missing? There was nothing I wanted. But I was growing bored, and my mind began to wander. I did not want to spend my last days bored. I was getting tired of just watching.
That being said, I didn’t want to turn into the mindless zombies that I could see through my windows. I had always prided myself on my intellect. That was not something I would let go of.
I contemplated shooting my way to a library or an art museum so that I could die surrounded my knowledge and genius. Sadly it would simply be a symbolic gesture, and what is symbolism if there is no one to appreciate it? Who was to say those places were still standing?
I sat guarding my home as the city burned. I shot random shots in the air to scare away those who questioned my sign. Still, I was bored. The world was ending and the best I could do was eat.
I found my mind returning to the same fantasy again and again. My love of a higher intellect made me reject it at first. But boredom and chaos got the better of me. I had always fantasized about killing someone with my bare hands. I had always wanted to see what was inside of us. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I began packing my backpack with beer, whiskey, and food.
I walked out my front door with a shotgun in my hand, a handgun and a butcher’s knife tucked in my belt. My watch read 3 am, but the moon shone so bright it looked like sunset.
With my shotgun brandished, no one bothered me. I passed a man as he fornicated with a sheep on his porch. I found myself wondering where he had found the sheep, and why had he not found a woman instead. Amidst the “Ba’s” and grunts I shrugged. To each his own.
I made my way a few blocks down screams, laughter, and song filled the air. I passed as many dead bodies as I did that of couples in the throes of passion as I wandered down the street towards Kyle’s house. Kyle had always annoyed me. He was a miserable employee, obnoxious, and a thorn in my side. He seemed like a reasonable choice. I just hoped he would be home.
I knocked on his door. No answer. If I believed in a God I might have prayed. Instead I just knocked harder. I walked around back and broke a window. I crawled in and searched the home. I found him passed out on his living room floor. The house reeked of weed. It was as sloppy as I had always imagined, I struggled to find a clear place on the floor to place my foot. A layer of clothes, half eaten microwave dinners, and other garbage covered the floor.
I brandished the butcher’s knife and approached his large rotund body. I placed the knife at his neck and then punched him in the face. His eyes opened for a second before I slashed his throat. Blood gushed in my face. On another day I may have been bothered by the health hazards. I hacked away at his neck, again and again, taking out all the anger and regret of the life I would never have on his fat neck. I swung until I had completely decapitated him, then sat gasping for air through the pink mist.
I suppose I should have felt guilty; but when the end is before your eyes all morality really flies out the window. It loses its purpose. What mattered was the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the excitement, the lack of boredom.
I began dissecting his body, playing with each organ. I carved up his fat filled heart and admired each chamber. I opened his lungs and studied the damage all his years of smoking had done. They were black and smelled of rotting flesh, it was quite disturbing actually. That stuff can kill you.
I cracked open a beer and drank as I pulled on his intestines, trying to see how long they really were. I then filleted his thighs into steaks and went out to his back yard. Making a small fire, I roasted the meat and had a bite. It tasted like pork. Odd.
Gravity began to feel a little different and I realized I did not have very long at all. I searched Kyle’s home for entertainment. I found a few issues of Playboy. That would do.
Sitting in a lawn chair out back, shotgun by my side, and sipping on beer I flipped through the magazines. As the gigantic moon flew across the sky I began to tug at myself. I stared at the models’ tits and licked my lips as they spread their legs.
I closed my eyes and breathed heavy. I envisioned the face of my ex-wife and boom.