Post-apocalyptic
I can barely remember how it all ended. I wasn't there, but I was told. The person who told me wasn't there either, but he was told by someone who was. And it used to be so important to remember. To remember where it all went wrong so that we would not make the same mistakes again. But that doesn't matter anymore. We will never even get the chance to come near the moment where our world ended.
The world itself did not end. It is still here and I am still here. But the world we had created for ourselves is gone. And the few who didn't disappear along with it were left with this. Only a little more to use, since we are unable to recreate what we need to take to survive. And now, it appears we down to the last minor fragments of what keeps us alive. Will my generation be the last?
Nature died and we died with it and all the artificial so called necessities in the world could not save us. Once there was nothing more to take, there was nothing more to produce and there was nothing more to consume. Societies collapsed and we died. The last bit of energy left in us was used to fight over the things we needed for our survival. The result of that? We destroyed what was left as well. People make foolish decisions when they are hungry and desperate. And when some of the fools can access nuclear weapons, that is the end.
The ones who did survive emerged from their shelters into this. With the exception of some more food to be found and I guess there was still flesh on the bodies. I remember the stories of cannibalism as starvation truly set in amongst the survivors. Scary stories told to us as we were children, to make sure we never went far from the group. We were told there were groups of survivors who lay in wait among the scrap heaps hoping for a group of passers-by. Or they would hunt. At night they would search for light and smell from fires of plastic material. The thick stench from burning tires stuck in your throat and even though your nose adapted to the smell, the rest of your body never did. Eyes burning, throat soar and lungs coughing up black stuff. The older ones remember fires made from wood and how wonderful it had smelled in comparison, even though that smoke too could hurt your eyes.
As time passed by, we became fewer and fewer. Food became even scarcer and newborn children rarely stayed alive for longer than a week. Their mothers often died with them, at their birth or from sorrow. They just stopped living on the inside and their bodies seemed to accept this and one morning they just wouldn't wake up.
Fights would break out regularly over what to do with the dead bodies. Even in our group, voices advocating cannibalism began to emerge. A sign of how near the end we were. Some tried to resist, but eventually as the hunger spread even more, they too gave up. I guess in the end, we all just want to survive. Our world has ended and it seems we will not get a second chance. Yet we still keep on fighting to stay alive.
She was 25 years old. She had seen what the deaths of newborn children had done to their mothers, and often also fathers, and because of that she had never tried to have any children herself. Even though I remember seeing the sorrow and jealousy in her eyes, when watching the pregnant women.
But childlessness is no guarantee for a long life. One morning she simply didn't wake up. Staying alive in a dead world is hard. And we decided, unanimously -- only five of us were left -- to go through with it. There had been no food for days and we could barely walk. We made up other excuses like that to ourselves and told them out loud as we undressed the body.
I remember her as quite beautiful, but that was all gone now. She lay naked before us, but there was nothing beautiful or sexual about her at all. Whatever it was that made her who she was, was gone and all that was left was a body; organs, bones and flesh. Flesh for us to eat. Flesh that was her gift to us we told ourselves. She would have wanted it that way we said over and over again as we gathered up the mental strength to go through with it. We had to hurry, because soon we would run out of physical strength and then we would be just as dead as she was. Eventually one of us pulled out a knife.
Remembering the end of the world is hard, and feels pointless, but remembering the first taste of human flesh is easy. So many more senses are involved. Your fingers feel the flesh, your eyes follow your hand to your mouth. The tongue and nose tells you the taste and your ears hear teeth sinking into meat. And it is wonderful. It is fresh.
But that was a couple of weeks ago. I am alone now. That's the problem with cannibalism. We were all just postponing the inevitable. Nothing wrong with that. Most people do that, try to wait as long as possible before dying. But most people might not do it by eating the people they grew up with. After the first girl, we went for a some days before the hunger set in again. Another one of us died and the rest of us could go on living for a few more days, this time longer than the first time since there were fewer people to share with.
Last week there was only me and my best friend left. Hardly able to move, we lay on the cold ground talking about our memories. We tried to focus on the good ones, but soon ran out. Before he fell asleep he told me he loved me as a brother. I love you too, I said. Watching the stars and listening to my friend fall asleep, I knew. One of us would not wake up. Maybe neither of us would. The light sound of my friend snoring turned into a slow gargle. The blade of my knife was not as sharp as I had hoped. I had to press down on it and it tore its way down towards his neck. What I tried to make quick became a mess. But finally I could feel the warm spurts become slower. He opened his eyes and I could see disapointment.
His eyes is the reason I am dying now and not next week. I no longer feel human. I only feel shame and instead of dying along with the people I loved I die alone. My friend's eyes are still open and I do not have the strength to close them. Of the love he felt, nothing is left.
All I see is disapointment.
The world itself did not end. It is still here and I am still here. But the world we had created for ourselves is gone. And the few who didn't disappear along with it were left with this. Only a little more to use, since we are unable to recreate what we need to take to survive. And now, it appears we down to the last minor fragments of what keeps us alive. Will my generation be the last?
Nature died and we died with it and all the artificial so called necessities in the world could not save us. Once there was nothing more to take, there was nothing more to produce and there was nothing more to consume. Societies collapsed and we died. The last bit of energy left in us was used to fight over the things we needed for our survival. The result of that? We destroyed what was left as well. People make foolish decisions when they are hungry and desperate. And when some of the fools can access nuclear weapons, that is the end.
The ones who did survive emerged from their shelters into this. With the exception of some more food to be found and I guess there was still flesh on the bodies. I remember the stories of cannibalism as starvation truly set in amongst the survivors. Scary stories told to us as we were children, to make sure we never went far from the group. We were told there were groups of survivors who lay in wait among the scrap heaps hoping for a group of passers-by. Or they would hunt. At night they would search for light and smell from fires of plastic material. The thick stench from burning tires stuck in your throat and even though your nose adapted to the smell, the rest of your body never did. Eyes burning, throat soar and lungs coughing up black stuff. The older ones remember fires made from wood and how wonderful it had smelled in comparison, even though that smoke too could hurt your eyes.
As time passed by, we became fewer and fewer. Food became even scarcer and newborn children rarely stayed alive for longer than a week. Their mothers often died with them, at their birth or from sorrow. They just stopped living on the inside and their bodies seemed to accept this and one morning they just wouldn't wake up.
Fights would break out regularly over what to do with the dead bodies. Even in our group, voices advocating cannibalism began to emerge. A sign of how near the end we were. Some tried to resist, but eventually as the hunger spread even more, they too gave up. I guess in the end, we all just want to survive. Our world has ended and it seems we will not get a second chance. Yet we still keep on fighting to stay alive.
She was 25 years old. She had seen what the deaths of newborn children had done to their mothers, and often also fathers, and because of that she had never tried to have any children herself. Even though I remember seeing the sorrow and jealousy in her eyes, when watching the pregnant women.
But childlessness is no guarantee for a long life. One morning she simply didn't wake up. Staying alive in a dead world is hard. And we decided, unanimously -- only five of us were left -- to go through with it. There had been no food for days and we could barely walk. We made up other excuses like that to ourselves and told them out loud as we undressed the body.
I remember her as quite beautiful, but that was all gone now. She lay naked before us, but there was nothing beautiful or sexual about her at all. Whatever it was that made her who she was, was gone and all that was left was a body; organs, bones and flesh. Flesh for us to eat. Flesh that was her gift to us we told ourselves. She would have wanted it that way we said over and over again as we gathered up the mental strength to go through with it. We had to hurry, because soon we would run out of physical strength and then we would be just as dead as she was. Eventually one of us pulled out a knife.
Remembering the end of the world is hard, and feels pointless, but remembering the first taste of human flesh is easy. So many more senses are involved. Your fingers feel the flesh, your eyes follow your hand to your mouth. The tongue and nose tells you the taste and your ears hear teeth sinking into meat. And it is wonderful. It is fresh.
But that was a couple of weeks ago. I am alone now. That's the problem with cannibalism. We were all just postponing the inevitable. Nothing wrong with that. Most people do that, try to wait as long as possible before dying. But most people might not do it by eating the people they grew up with. After the first girl, we went for a some days before the hunger set in again. Another one of us died and the rest of us could go on living for a few more days, this time longer than the first time since there were fewer people to share with.
Last week there was only me and my best friend left. Hardly able to move, we lay on the cold ground talking about our memories. We tried to focus on the good ones, but soon ran out. Before he fell asleep he told me he loved me as a brother. I love you too, I said. Watching the stars and listening to my friend fall asleep, I knew. One of us would not wake up. Maybe neither of us would. The light sound of my friend snoring turned into a slow gargle. The blade of my knife was not as sharp as I had hoped. I had to press down on it and it tore its way down towards his neck. What I tried to make quick became a mess. But finally I could feel the warm spurts become slower. He opened his eyes and I could see disapointment.
His eyes is the reason I am dying now and not next week. I no longer feel human. I only feel shame and instead of dying along with the people I loved I die alone. My friend's eyes are still open and I do not have the strength to close them. Of the love he felt, nothing is left.
All I see is disapointment.
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