The Doomsday Drifter

T he one thing about the apocalypse that couldn't be denied was a beautiful starry night. A million little twinkling lights across the heavens, so majestic and unselfish, dazzled us with their brilliance, unobstructed by clouds and man-made beams. The few of us that remained on this lonely planet after that terrible event were free to gaze and soak in the spectacle of what God had created and willfully shared.

And all it took was a successful gas attack that killed millions across the globe.
I often stared at the night sky, watching the gentle pinpricks of white until it lolled me to sleep. It offered me hope, that life could be good again, because such beauty can’t be erased or contained. The stars would always be there, shining down upon us, reminding the world that the heavens awaited our fate, whether we asked them to or not.

It is the world down below that reminded me the exact opposite. When night fell, the earth became black, stark, and ominous. There was no light, there was no grandeur. There was only fear. I was stuck in a wasteland filled with innocents and murderers and the only certainty was the unknown.

Post-apocalyptic life was a struggle, desperate, and dangerous. Society broke down much faster than we could all imagine. Crimes went unpunished. Evil permeated the good in men and turned us against ourselves.

We needed more light. But when the switch became permanently turned off, we were left with stark opposites.

Darkness and light. And nothing in-between.

It was scary when you realized how black it got.