It’s been a year, and no one seems to have noticed. They keep living their lives as normal, as if we were all still on earth, as if we didn’t leave over half the population to die, as if there was still something worth living for. But there’s not, at least not anymore.

Being alone never gets easier; you just learn to block everything out so you don’t have to feel anything at all. That's what I did at least, not that it seems to matter much. The world, or whatever you would call it now, keeps moving, with or without you, so you have two options: try to keep up or let yourself fall behind. These days, the latter seems more appealing.

I don’t understand how everyone else seems so happy. Do they not care? Did they ever care? Or is everything only about protecting oneself? Because that’s what it's starting to feel like. How many lives were ruined just so you could keep living? That’s a question I often ask myself, and the answer I keep giving myself is “More than I deserve,” and unfortunately for me, I’m probably not wrong.

I hate going outside, hate seeing people live their daily lives without a care, hate the lack of respect for those we left behind, hate the lack of grief. I hate it all, but at least I never have to talk to anyone; that’s an upside, I suppose. 

It used to be so easy to find a positive side to things, but now it feels like I have to strain my eyes to find the tiniest sliver of one. I even tried going to therapy when this whole thing started, honestly, I did, but they all kept saying the same thing, “It’ll get better over time,” but it never did, so I stopped going. Sometimes I regret that decision, but most of the time I say, “fuck those government-licensed good-for-nothing wannabe therapists.” Which might seem harsh, but if you met them, you’d say the same, trust me. Or don’t, you’re still reading, so it doesn’t really matter to me.

You remember how I said I hated going outside. You’ll never guess where I am right now. Outside. If you somehow managed to guess that without reading ahead, wow, congrats, you’re Sherlock Holmes in the making. If you didn’t go back to elementary school, please, and if you’re in elementary school, why the fuck are you reading this? Anyway, back to me being in the worst place ever. It sucks here, and what sucks more is that we still have to eat food, but somehow we have unlimited atmosphere and oxygen in space. Like, who even wants to eat vegetables, not me, that's for sure. 

Approaching the produce stand, yes, the produce stand, not aisle, stand, I browse the oh so tempting options before settling on carrots, peppers, and tomatoes, the basics. Bread is also important, so I grab some as I walk by the bakery stand and towards my main target, the drink stand. I hate anything that doesn’t have flavor. Add that to the list of things I hate, if you’re keeping track. So naturally, my body rejects the idea of consuming water, which allows me to fully enjoy all the other wonderful drinks this floating piece of crap has to offer.

Little did I know that by approaching the drink stand today would change my life forever…or maybe it won’t, how would I know, I’m still living in this moment. After what feels like forever, I finally reach the drink stand, and to my surprise, nothing has changed. Or at least that’s what I thought, when suddenly someone crashes into me, knocking me to the ground. I look up and see a guy, around my age, or at least no older than 25. He stands up and runs off without even trying to help me up. 

How rude. Now that my slightly better-than-usual mood has been ruined, I turn back to the drink stand and grab my usuals before making my way back home. Honestly, I don’t think this day could get any worse, but I am quickly proven wrong when I turn into an ally and see, you guessed it, the guy who so rudely knocked me down before popping a squat, seemingly examining something. Suspicious. 

But now that I can actually get a good look at him, I see that my suspicions were correct; he looks to be around my age. And the clothes he’s wearing are… barely considered scraps. He’s wearing literal rags, but hey, if he likes it, who am I to judge? I pray he doesn’t notice me as I quietly try to slip past him, but of course, nothing is on my side today, and I trip over and fall, landing flat on my face.

How humiliating. I quickly stand up and gather my things before bracing myself in a fighting position, fully expecting this strange man to take a hit at me. The mysterious weirdo whips around as if his mom had just walked in on him doing something he shouldn’t. My eyes narrow as I watch him scramble to his feet. How can one guy be so suspicious without having even said a word? 

“H-hey…please don’t hurt me,” the man stutters. Oh, great, another weakling. I lower my hands, but keep them balled into fists; you can never be too careful. I glare at him, waiting for him to make his next move.  When he doesn’t do anything, I roll my eyes and keep walking down the alley. He’s clearly not a threat, at least not to me, so I’m not going to waste my time on him.

“Wait! Where are you going?” he calls out after me. I stop in my tracks and take a deep breath. I really don’t want to deal with this guy right now. I look over my shoulder at him and glare so hard it would make any little kid go crying to their mommy. I continue walking, naively thinking that he had gotten the message to leave me alone. Either he didn’t get it or doesn’t care because before I can even blink, he’s walking beside me.

“I never got your name. I’m Wesley,” he says with a hopeful smile. Wow, his lips are really chapped. I turn to keep walking forward, hopefully, he will just stop bothering me after I don’t answer him. But, yet again, I am wrong. He keeps walking beside me, “Not much of a talker? That’s fine, I can do all the talking!” he says, far too cheery for my liking. I let out an exasperated groan. I swear, why won’t he just leave me alone? This boy is really starting to annoy me.

I don’t want this weirdo to follow me home, so I start developing my master plan. I’ve always been fast, and now is the perfect time to put that super speed to use. While Wesley is rambling about some obscure topic I couldn’t care less about, I dart, sprinting like my life depended on it. 

I speed around a corner, looking over my shoulder to see if I’d lost him. Not seeing any sign of him, I climb up the nearest fire escape. First rule of escape: make sure you always have a vantage point. When I reach the roof, I look down to find Wesley standing, confused, looking all over frantically. I scoff. Why is he even trying to look for me? Why would he care what I did or where I went? Whatever, not like I care what he does, if he wants to waste time trying to find me, so be it. It’s not like he would succeed anyway.