The Lost Art of Staying Alive

The End of the Road

I pulled a map from my back pocket. The map was crumpled from being folded so long and still served purpose past its lifetime. Certain parts of it were falling off, but I kept it together for the sake of knowing where I was going and being able to know where I'd visited. I kept it held together by a single paper clip and the lid of my marker. But as for knowing where I was headed, there was truly no way to know the dangers or obstacles that lie ahead.

The grass was brittle and thick and I stumbled a bit while walking through it. It was not only hard and frozen, but partiallty soggy in some areas. Fearlessly, I stepped onto the pavement. Houses all around me, still not a face to see. No infected, no people, and no animals. Only overgrown grass, shrubs and lonesome homes.

I treaded down Cherry Street. Most of these streets were named after trees. I had no explanation to why or who did it, but it was a common thing. I pulled a black marker out of my front pocket and marked a small dot over the area on the street of the house I'd come out of. I folded it and stuck it back into my pocket with the marker to the side.

Cherry Street was a nice place, mostly older folks, I suppose. Upon that thought I was intruiged enough to look through some of the homes. I knew older people collected and had all sorts of old things. My main assumption was that old people canned food, and bought mostly canned food. If someone was still inside their home, I'd probably get shot on the spot. I'd never looked like the model citizen, and I was definitely not with the National Guard by any means. I laughed at that thought and kicked a pebble off the side of the road.

I veered off and started pacing a little faster towards the prettiest house on the street. It may have not been the prettiest to me, but it looked the most expensive. I knocked on the door a few times and waited for anyone to come. I twisted the knob. Locked. I took my flashlight and busted the large window above the knob and unlocked it. I twisted it again from the outside and the door still wouldn't budge.

With a sigh, I used the flashlight to knock off the rest of the glass from the bottom edge of the window. Its low enough, and big enough. I swooped in, and eyed the large lock that held the door closed. Above that was another, much more simple chain and bolt type of lock.

Whoever lived here would've had a much better chance by staying here. Maybe they were still alive somewhere, but it definitely wasn't here. Everything was closed and the way it was supposed to be, but something was peculiar. A lingering scent of rot was around but not of the casual fridge of black eggs and spoiled milk, nor was it human. I caught a glance of a set of empty silver bowls on the floor by a wooden table in the kitchen. Fluffy didn't make it, I thought.

The further into the kitchen I got, the more lost I felt. Everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be. Unopened boxes and orderly cans with labels facing outward. This was still someone's home and it played my heart strings when I'd come across houses like these: Homes nobody got back to take care of, and the pets. The pets made it much worse.

All in all, I had enough potted meat and triscuts to support a small army after sifting through the cabinets. A jar of green beans, the date labeled only last fall. Through a small doorway to my left was a staircase just past the living room. The white shag-carpeted stairs were welcoming. I stepped up them and came across four doors. Door one was a bathroom. A glass shower rested in the corner, polished and clean. A small cabinet mirror hung over the sink. Its contents were merely Advil, Tylenol, orajel and various bandages but I fit it all into my backpack.

Door two was what I assumed to be a guest room. Nothing personal like photographs or trinkets. The walls were lined with burgundy paint and plastic flowers, several paintings hung. A bed sat in light of the sun perfectly made and bright, untouched. The black dresser was empty and nothing was on top of it but a box of tissues.