Last Man On Earth
Imagine waking up and finding yourself alone. Not just in your home, but your street, your city, and your planet. This is no zombie apocalypse, either: the pressing need to keep your organs on the inside of your skin is not major motive. Maybe the world is trashed and broken, maybe it’s as clean as it was yesterday, but you’re alone, one hundred percent truly and totally isolated.
The issue of survival would raise its head, but somewhere amid the ruins there’ll be food, or small fluffy squeaky things that can be turned into food. If everything is strangely whole and abandoned, it’s even easier. So then you settle down in your house, or the largest standing building you can find, build a fire out of broken office furniture and roast your little dead squeaky thing. Now what? Sleep. Then in the morning, you eat what’s left of the squeaky thing, and head out into the bright and empty world…
And again you hit that question: now what? The only threat you’re under is starvation, and that’s so far-off as to be invisible. You don’t have a job to go to; you don’t need money. Maybe you hold out hope that there are others in the world somewhere, but it may take you some time to get to them.
The question of life as the last human on earth is a complicated one, but it comes back to this: if you’re the last man on Earth, how can you tell you’re not hallucinating everything? There is no one to ground you in reality, so reality itself is questionable…
