Just Speak Louder

It doesn't matter how much you tell yourself you'll be okay, being the only man left alive is.. harrowing.

I mean, sure, I'm pretty certain there are others. In the months after we hid in our bunker, after the fallout cleared and the turmoil lessened, we heard the sounds of civilization in the distance. We heard life. Some as far away as nearby cities, others, more than a hair's length away from our meager vault, a few feet below the ground in the middle of nowhere.

And I've seen life since. Fires that once burnt bright only months ago. Footprints in the ash that should have been covered already, if they were indeed older than the ash itself. And the voices. In the distance. The groaning of ruins brought to life by... well, Life! Sure, they arent real voices, they arent words spoken by tongues and mouths. But they speak, dont they? These voices talk louder than any throat, right? The voice of civilization. The voice of Life. Capital L.

But I'm rambling, I guess. Memories of staff meals and laughs shared, of an existence in this very building, then hated, now admired. "How did I live then?", I ask myself from time to time, "a hollow life, superficial to the core", when I should be asking;

"How do I live now?"

With what could easily be defined as 'no' life. Not really. Survival is not life, it's existence.

And without other people, it's no more than just keeping these fragile genes alive. And it's ironic that, only with other people do these genes have any chance of truly surviving.

Is ironic the right word? I forget these days, with no one to keep me in track.

No real information today. Not really. Christmas saddened me before the fall. Now? That pain seems distant, as if I dreamt it. As if I'm angry at a dream, and all the people in it, people I loved or cared for or admired or adored. And now these people are no longer around, and I'm just left feeling angry and hollow.

I'm sorry. These few precious moments of power and I waste it. I am sorry.

I am.

x