My whole family died three days ago. Now, this may not seem like much considering my family was down to two people. The only two people that mattered anyway. But now they're gone. They were my only reason for living, what the hell am I supposed to do now?
I want to die, and believe me I would've put a bullet through my brain a long time ago, but my clips empty. I used my last rounds putting my family down. Now ironically there's nothing left for me. I still got my blade. Well, not so much a blade as a fireman's axe. But truth be told I'm too chicken shit to kill myself that way so now, I'm playing the waiting game. The last of the food is gone, it's only a matter of time till I starve to death but goddamn does it have to take so long?
If society was still up and running, most people would be appalled to know what I did for what was assumingly my last few moments alive. I read. Throughout the months of making food runs I also checked any grocery store or Walmart for any books left behind. Force of habit from my pre-apocalypse days. The need for an escape was more present now than ever. But just as I began to loose myself something in the corner of the storage shed I had grown to call home caught my eye.
It had fallen between a crack in the floorboards but once my eyes focused it was unmistakable, it was a bullet. It must've fallen out my pack, but I couldn't say when. I crawled over to it and held it delicately, rolling it between my fingers. My saving grace.
I loaded it into my magazine and flicked the safety off, closing my eyes as the barrel pressed against my temple.
One...
Two...
Three- wait.
My eyes fluttered open as I distantly heard a voice shouting for help. "It's not your problem" I kept whispering to myself. But something about the timing of the situation made me pick myself up off of the floor and out the door, following the screams as they got louder.
