Bonfire

A condemned man asks questions about the meaning of life and death, searching for answers of significance. Answers that make an impact on his perception or settle his fears with momentary peace. I started asking those questions as I fed driftwood to the bonfire.

What does it mean to be human in the absence of other people? Am I really the last man standing? Am I the character is some bad survival video game? Am I a dead man walking? How did it happen? How could it have happened?

In the early hours of the morning after a night of watching the flames and getting nowhere, the questions started to funnel down from the unanswerable and philosphical into the realm of simplicity.

Am I dead? Assume no.

Am I alive? Assume yes.

Do I want to keep living? ……. yes.

Can I keep living? Yes.

Have I gone insane? Jury’s still out, buddy. Time to get your ass in gear. Ain’t nobody coming to your rescue.

(Day 16)

Meeting

The island isn’t exactly small. It’s home to thousands of people. More in the summer, less in the winter as the weather swings between “just right” and “colder than hell”. Snow birds flee in October and November to warmer places like Arizona and Southern California. They return in the earlier spring ahead of the tourist crowd. This time of year? The beaches should be crawling, downtown businesses should be thriving, and the ferry should be making its regular runs to the city.

I knew what I was going to find even before I arrived. It was the lack of fireworks. No 4th of July has ever passed with a lack of celebratory exposions. Except this one. I stayed up listening. Hoping. For just one. But there was nothing. No fireworks. No people.

I’d left signs out and about on day 10. At the library. At the hardware stores. At the grocery stories. City Hall. Downtown. My favorite coffee shop. The ferry dock. At churches and major four way stops. A time and a place to meet. A gathering of everyone who’s left.

Knew I’d be the only one to show up. I wasn’t wrong.

(Day 15)

Bridge

I’m not ruling out possibilities. That I’m dead. Or asleep. This would be one hell of a dream. It’s been two weeks now. Two weeks packed into one long nightmare. I’d like to say stranger things have happened but… I’m coming up short. If it is a dream, I can’t tell the difference between reality and imagination. Every detail is vivid. My eyes are open and I still can’t believe what I see.

Made it down the grade to the bridge today. It’s in pieces. Six thousand feet of broken metal and plating. Sticking out of the water like a half buried skeleton.

(Day 14)

Independence

No early morning mowers. No weedeaters. No cars. No planes flying overhead. No engines revving. No telephones ringing. No fireworks. The front door still squeaks. The garage door still works. Water runs. Both the sink and the shower. Half the sounds I’m used to hearing are gone. The other half creates an illusion. That life is still normal.

The birds wake me up now. They’re better than the mowers.

(Day 12)