Alone with My Thoughts

=First Entry=

Dear Diary,

I am alone. Everyone is gone. Why? I don't know why. I woke up in my bed and everyone was just… gone. There was note on my chest simply saying THANK YOU. I don't know what that means either. All of today I walked around looking for somebody, anybody, anything. It was as if every living creature on the Earth just vanished. Even grass and trees. It's all just gone. Then I went back to my house. I didn't know what to do. I cooked myself some food, or should I say opened a can of refried beans. That was ten years ago. I have done the same thing for ten years. I am writing in this diary to try and preserve some sense of normalcy… and sanity. I know I've lost it anyway, after all I am talking to a notebook as if it were a person. I travel along steadily looking for some kind of clue as to what has happened. Everything looks exactly the same as the day everyone disappeared, as if they just got up and left. The power's out which means no radio broadcasts. Trust me, I've tried; hoping that there might be some hint as to what happened. I sleep where I want to sleep; after all it's not as if their owners are coming back anytime soon. I wish I could tell you my name and age, but I can't. I don't remember.

=Second Entry=

Dear Diary,

I am walking through the capitol of the US. I can't quite remember its name … everything is so fuzzy now. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that I have found something that is alive. A dandelion. It is my pet. I have named him Dandy and for once I have a companion. I tried feeding it some canned tomatoes, but it didn't work. I don't know why. Doesn't it want to live? I guess the food does taste kind of bad now. Even I can't always keep it down and it sometimes wrecks havoc on my insides. I put the dandelion in the can in case it got hungry later.

=Third Entry=

Dear Diary,

Today is sad. My only friend is dead. Dandy is dead. I buried him. I cried. I cried for so long I threw up, wasting the precious foodstuffs I had consumed earlier. I scraped what I could of the vomit in the can Dandy had been living in. I figured I might need it later. I am living in the White House. I feel very important like … that one guy … who was important … oh well it doesn't matter now does it? As I am writing this I am looking at Earth's twin moons; one of the few things that make me feel normal. I keep trying to remember what life used to be like before everything was gone. It is getting hard to remember things nowadays. I used to be very smart. I keep hearing voices inside of me, but I don't know who they are. Prominent among these are a girl named Vivian. She screams at me in crying wails that I am her father, but I have no children … I think.

=Fourth Entry=

Dear Diary,

I wish I could find just one living thing. Anything would do. In ten years I haven't found one thing to keep me company. I would even take a despicable weed like a dandelion. I think I would call it Dandy. That annoying voice in my head keeps yelling at me; begging me to remember my daughter. I think a daughter is a kind of human but I can't remember… everything is so fuzzy. Anyway, humans haven't existed in ten years.

=Fifth Entry=

Dear Diary,

I am still in that one place I've been in for awhile. There is plenty of stuff here. The food tastes terrible, much like turquoise used to when everything was here. I forgot to tell you. Everything is gone. I don't know why, but I want to know why. The thing in my head has quieted down now. I am very pleased, but also sad. I had good conversations with it, but lately it's been a real jerk and hasn't responded. I think I am going to take a nice walk now.

=Final Entry=

Dear Diary,

Today I am exploring a big round place in this big white building. I found this small thing in the shape of a rectangle. It had an one of those red fruits on it, but it was black and had a bite taken out of it. I tapped it and it turned on. There were letters on the bottom. They said "slide here to unlock." I slid my finger there. Then the screen changed. It was now a picture of something in a fancy suit with a sideways triangle right in the middle. I hit the triangle to see its face better, but then the screen moved. It started talking to me. I wrote down what it said.

"This is President Atwood. I know who is listening to this. Your name is William Cordell. You are the last man on Earth. You are probably searching for answers. This should hopefully answer some questions for you. You are infected. You have a disease that gradually slows the function of the brain. Once the brain is essentially dead it will start to break down all other cells in the body. You are the only infected left. We had managed to quarantine all of the infecteds, but they all died. Except for you. You have the virus, but it seems as if the brain deterioration stage is greatly slowed. Unfortunately, it has not stopped; you will eventually lose your memories and your life too. You and you alone could determine the fate of all of Earth's life and you did the noble thing: you stayed behind. When the first signs of the affliction appeared, you designed a giant space station that could hold all of Earth's population, never knowing the whole time that you could never come on it. We followed your plan. We have left the Earth for the safety of billions of plant, animal, and human lives. Everybody, except for you; perhaps the most brilliant man ever to live. It pains me to leave you so alone, but you can always see us, and we can always see you. Your family will be trying to talk to you through your brain neurotransmitter. If you ever need reassurance, just look to the sky and you will see us right by Earth's moon. On behalf of the human race comes a big thank you, for saving our lives and making a noble sacrifice. We will never forget you; even though you will forget us."

So at least I am not alone. There is some other guy like me out there on a planet called "Earth" who is all alone as well, abandoned by his people, "humans" they were called, and left to live a life of exile. Too bad I haven't found out about everything that disappeared here. Sometimes I feel as if I never will.