Jeffrey - 24th September

When the sky fell down, I was sleeping in a fridge.

It was a stinking thing, smelling of decay and faintly of rotten food, but it was a refuge from the bitter September winds, and all us down-and-outs really want is a refuge. I say ‘down-and-outs’ because even after 20 years of this, I still refuse to call myself homeless. Hell, I would probably say that I have never truly had somewhere that I felt was home, but that’s a life time of whining that isn’t important right now.

When the sky fell down, I was sleeping in a goddamn fridge.

That’s all there is to it. The sky was a deep, dark blue and there was a smattering of stars here and there, brilliantly visible because way out here in this trash dump, there are no lights, and nothing living but me, a few thousand rats, and an uncountable amount of bacteria. I spotted this fridge, a large white one, stained from the passage of time. The way it lay face down on its door made it seem almost sad, and I pitied it in that bizarre and lonely way that only people like me can. I rolled it over onto its back with a fair amount of struggle and opened it. It was entirely empty, no shelves or food or rats or anything, perfect!

I set my backpack in (containing some spare clothes, and my trusty journal and pens) and climbed in after it. It was an excessively big thing, but that’s America for you. There was just about enough room for my whole body if I curled up into a ball.

I had slept in better places, but I had also slept in far worse. I closed the door over me and obscured the stars from view, and blocked out the faint but icy breeze that told me that the sun of summer was long over and a nasty Autumn was gearing up to roll into town, followed by a brutal Winter. After tonight I would probably start rambling south again, in search of odd-jobs and warmer weather. To the homeless (and the old, I must admit) the cold can spell death.

When I was younger I could sleep like the dead, but during and after the war, I began to sleep lighter and lighter, and when I became a ramblin’ man (more denial!) it became in the interest of my health and personal safety to sleep light and sleep fast. So it came as a bit of a surprise to discover I had slept through the end of the world.
I woke in the fridge, on what I assumed was another mild-to-cold September morning, and tried to open the door.

It was a bit of a struggle, but I didn’t think anything of this, maybe some junk had just tumbled from the pile the fridge was lodged in, and with a bit of pushing and a little help from one of my legs, I managed to open it. What rushed in was acrid air that smelled like burning and chemicals, and instead of it being mild or bitter it was warm and moist, like it had been left to rot. A religious man would have said that it smelled like fire and brimstone, but the sights that you tend to see in war make it hard to be anything other than atheist.

The sky was dyed a bloody red, with weird mixes of blue, orange, green and black thrown in for good measure. It looked like a particularly terrible painter’s easel, with all sorts of colours spread here and there and nothing looking all that natural. I felt my testicles shrink to the size of peas, and I think that if I had of eaten or drank in the last day or two I might have soiled or pissed myself. I can’t really remember what I thought at that exact moment, but I had to fight the temptation to just lie back down and close the door of the fridge. Thinking back now I was lucky that the end didn’t bring an earthquake that would have buried the only man to survive it in trash, turning a smelly old fridge into a cheap and makeshift hobo coffin.

I climbed out, with trembling knees and my skin turning cold and breaking out in gooseflesh, despite the hot and stinking air that was blasting at me. I could see the bizarre sky stretch as far as I could see. I climbed shakily to the top of the trash pile I had slept on, and from that relatively high height I could see the nearby town in the distance. From here I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I had a crawling feeling I couldn’t explain. It just looked dead, it didn’t look right. Those tall grey buildings looked like giant gravestones against this ugly and hellish sky, and the air blowing around me almost made me certain I had been plummeted into hell.

I tentatively scanned the horizon, and then the ground closer to me. No hordes of hell coming to claim my soul in sight. No rampaging zombies or mutants baying for my flesh. Nothing I had ever seen in those cheap movies as a kid. Just that weird sky, that freaky winds, and this bizarre quiet, like the very earth itself had passed away too.

My stomach rumbled loudly, making my jump and I nearly tumbled from my precarious perch on the festering pile of trash. I was so damn hungry, pickings had been slim yesterday and the day before that, and hell; the day before that too. I would go and to explore the town, searching for any signs of life or any clues as to what had happened, and I would have a nosy for food in the meantime. Well, I at least told myself that I would be doing things in that order. It might help me sleep easier tonight, hopefully not in a fridge again.

Maybe everyone would be fine and nothing had happened, maybe the sky was just a really weird colour and the stinking and humid wind that was blasting me and making my rotten clothes stick to me was just because of the dump. Maybe when I walked into down everyone would be walking around happy as can be, and they would all look down their noses at me and give me a wide berth as they walked past me.

I had a weird feeling I wouldn’t be so lucky. I was almost certain, somewhere deep down in me, that I was the only man, and indeed probably the only human left on this planet. As if to both agree and disagree with me, the festering wind carried a bizarre howl towards me, from the direction of the town. Part of me wanted to say it was a human sound, but I don’t think any man could have made a noise like that. Maybe it was an animal? A really big one…

Who knows? Damn it I’m hungry; I’ll just take my chances.

I took out my journal and started writing. I had always recorded every day of my life in a journal since I could read and write, and it seemed like finally something interesting had happened to make this stupid self indulgence worthwhile.

I might be the last man on earth. This would make a great book if there was anyone on the planet left to read it.

It was time to head towards town, and towards the source of that unearthly wail. My skin broke out in fresh goose bumps and my testicles shrunk a bit more. I suddenly felt lonely for the first time in years and years. I guess that was only normal.

- Jeffrey Winchester, 24th September, 2012.