Everyone Is Dying
The bottle of wine feels heavier with each step. I clean the blood from my hands with a rag and wipe the bottle clean too. I also catch my breath. With so much radiation in the atmosphere, it takes something out of me everyday. But it’s ok. Everyone is dying.
I stop five more times before I reach the roof. The door to the roof is broken and a lone Clawgger eats the metal with a hypnotic hunger. I stick close to the wall and hope it will ignore me. I don’t want to spend my time fighting off a biomechnoid bird that even hell spat out.
I pass the bird and see Yas sitting on the other side of the roof. Her hair, once black, has grayed prematurely. I feel a twinge of sadness in my chest. I walk over to her and sit on the ledge. Our feet dangle 36 stories above the ground. Yas looks at me and takes out a dirty glass goblet from her overcoat. I smile at her and show her the bottle. Her sad, sleep deprived eyes light up and a smile slithers over to her lips. I pull the cork of the bottle and one tooth comes out with it. I hide it in my hand and pour her the wine.
Together, we watch the black smoke rise from the cities as a sick egg yolk sun sets on whatever is left of the planet after World War III.
[Nothingman writes short stories at A Story A Day. He listens to metal that is very heavy and drinks Mountain Dew that is spiked with Vodka.]