• I walk. Lonely city by lonely city. During the day I rest. At night, I stalk the streets, undeterred. I am alone. Forever alone. I believe I am the last living human in the world. I may not be, but I have traveled lands and seas, and never met anyone. There are no longer any maps, countries, places. Everything has been reclaimed. Just as someday my body will be reclaimed. I hope. Hope is a funny thing. When I think of all the people who had hope. People who dedicated their lives to that hope. Seems silly to me now. Even more silly than it was back then. A lot of things seem silly now. But that is to be expected. None of the things people's lives revolved around exist anymore. So I guess all of it seems silly. Or it could be just me. Maybe I am crazy. There is no salvation. Back when there were people, most of them believed in a god of some sort. They believed that worship would bring them salvation when the end came. I was never one of those people. I believed in doing good, but knew nothing it would mean nothing. Then the end came. All of those people turned to their gods. Lot of help that did.

    They went by hundreds and thousands to their churches, Ashrams, Synagogues, Mosques. And so too, went the dead. In the same hundreds and thousands. Trapping the people, tearing each and every one of them to pieces. Blood spattered on their holy relics. I've seen it all. The dried blood. The rotting remains of those too devoured to stand. The rotting remains of those who could stand. I've heard their moans, as they search for something to eat. Felt their hunger, trying to fill the void that they must have inside of them all. The same thing they did when they were alive. Only now, no one hides the fact that they are missing something. They all shout it out plainly and clearly. They are hungry, they want flesh. Racism and prejudice are gone now. The dead reject no one. They take of everybody equally. They are kinder in death than they were in life.

    Of course some people survived, and tried to rebuild society. I was in one of those groups at first. That's how we survived. Staying together in small packs, barricading ourselves inside buildings. We thought if we could board up the doors and the windows, we'd be safe. We never gave a thought to the weaknesses of the buildings themselves. Fortresses, they are not. Eventually, when the dead couldn't break through the doors, they started searching for weak spots in the walls. The framework. Pressing along the buildings until they gave way. Were we ever in for a surprise, when walls started crashing down, ghouls coming at us from every side. That's when most of the rest went. When their 'foolproof' architecture gave way. Then there were other's who had barricaded themselves in so well, that they had starved to death. Or suffocated from lack of oxygen. Whenever I find one of these more secure structures, I always stay away. Knowing what I am likely to find inside.

    It's been years and years since I saw my last human. Hiding in the treetops one day, I saw a little girl. She was running from a pack of ravenous undead. I watched as she started tiring, and they caught up with her. She screamed. So loud that she attracted more. They grabbed her arms first. Tore them off of her body, fought each other for her legs, her head, and her torso. There was barely enough to go around. They scrambled among themselves like lions at a kill. It was nothing new to me. I had seen it all before. But that was the last time. Before that, I had been traveling with a motorcycle gang. We thought that was the best way to go, after most houses and buildings had fallen down. But traveling together brings more trouble than comfort. Resources were running low. And of course, you always have to find a place to rest. That's when they got us. I was awakened by screams and gunshots. But there were too many of them, too few of us. I ran. And save for the little girl I saw, I've been alone ever since.

    But all of that was years ago. The ghouls are getting hungrier, more restless. They hunt me with angered precision. I know my time is soon. There is only so much I can do to stay alive. The loneliness subsided ages ago. But now, I am listless. I continue on, day by day. But I have no purpose. Stay alive. For what? I will find no one, do nothing. But run and run and run. Until I tire out. I have survived, the one thing that always scared me. Survived when no one else has. But it means nothing. And so, up here on this mountain. After traveling the world, I stare down at my place of birth. I watch the ghouls search through the rubble I once called home. Searching for any remains of my loved ones. At least, those who aren't out there searching themselves. I am writing this letter. In case maybe I am wrong. In case there is someone else out there. Or evolution takes another chance at life. I will include the stories of others, and how it all began. And then I will take my pistol, and feed myself to the monsters below.