I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. It’s not what you think though. I’m not in a house or an apartment. I’m not in anything anyone would consider habitable. I’m sitting in one of those large metal sinks you’d find in a restaurant, used for cleaning dishes. There are three compartments and I am not alone, though I wish I was. The other two have already given up and succumbed to the heat of the sun. I am left surrounded by water and this nefarious odor from their decaying bodies that hits me every time the wind blows just the right way, which happens too often.
Every direction I look, there is nothing but sea and sky and the occasional dorsal fin. The smell, at least, keeps the sharks away. I see no other signs of life, nor have I in the days I’ve been adrift, not even a small fishing boat or an airplane rumbling through the sky. This is not a surprise considering the way the world went up in smoke. I’m still amazed that my two now-dead companions and I survived at all.
The days themselves have blurred into one and I lost track how many have passed since the holocaust. I can’t dwell on any of this, though, or I will go crazy. I’m already crazed from hunger and my tongue longs for a taste of anything besides seaweed. Even then, it’s been days since I consumed the last of it. As long as I can keep my wits about me, I can hope for rescue.
I refuse to give up.
I’m also linking this up with #FridayFlash.
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