Brian Stansford

We are the last two men on earth.

Brian Stansford and I.

I hate Brian. Of course my life ends up like this.

I hated Brian before this whole "end of the world" fiasco. We worked together in an office. We were both salesmen. We sold ink cartridges. An awful profession, honestly. Brian and myself worked next to each other. He didn't shower much. He was easily the size of a manatee. He constantly snacked and chewed far too loudly. He was a thorn in my side. So of course it's him that I'm stuck with.

Everything is so desolate. The buildings that weren't demolished or burned down are completely empty. The streets are blackened and stained. Most of the street lamps have burned out. Empty shells of cars are everywhere.

The decadence of man in decay.

We stay in my house. Brian talks in his sleep and smells worse than ever, even though the shower system I've set up works just fine. He rarely moves from the bed in my guest room. Just lays in there watching television.

Now that the entire human race is gone, Brian has come to think of himself as a sort of philosopher. He keeps coming up with these ideas. These rules for life. Reasons why it all happened. I think he's mad. He sounds more like Manson than Nietzsche.

I get away from him during the day as much as I can. I wander around. I go inside buildings and try to find supermarkets. Supermarkets that still have non-perishables. I look for other survivors. So far, there's no one. It's eerie honestly. The world is empty. There are no bodies. There are no survivors, save Brian and myself. I never thought the end of the world would happen like this. Nor did I think I would be stuck in it with Brian.

When I am around the house, I work on this helicopter I found. I've always been fairly skilled with my hands and used to work on cars with my dad when I was younger. Helicopters and cars aren't quite the same though so it's taking me a while. Once it's finished, I'm going to use it to widen my search for food and other humans.

Lately though, I haven't been finding food. We collected most of it within the couple of months, and there's no way out of the city since all the roads are covered with pieces of buildings or stacks of cars. Our stockpile is starting to run low. There's only a few cans left. We tried to start a garden, but neither Brian nor myself have much of a green thumb.

Once the food runs out I'll be left with two options as far as my sustenance goes. I can either starve to death, or I can eat Brian Stansford. The idea of ingesting that pitiful excuse for a human is horrifying. He's disgusting. I can't imagine he would taste any sort of good. The food's running out though, and I still need another month or two before the helicopter is ready to fly, or before I'm ready to fly it for that matter. I don't have a damn clue how that thing works.

Tonight was the night. I rooted around in the closet till I found one of the guns we kept for hunting (which neither of us ever had much success with), walked upstairs to the room where he was watching old episodes of Gilligan's Island, told him I was sorry, and put a bullet through his head.

This proved to be a great deal messier than I had imagined.

I barbecued him though, and I'm chewing as loud as I can.