Very rarely do humans know the exact date of their death. Such knowledge drives a person insane, as they watched the days slowly count down. Questions begin to arise about the significance of morality when the inevitable end is staring humanity in the face. The decency and manner of what is called civilization crumbles under the weight of impending annihilation.
    No one could quite believe that scientists, mere mortals, found the catalyst to our destruction years before its pre-destined date to strike. Such a life-shattering discovery is often met with skepticism, but as more of the scientific community began to agree with the initial discovery, the skepticism dissipated and turned into full-blown panic. It interested me that society failed to come up with solutions to give even the slightest chance for survival, and instead opted for anarchy and slowly the society that all of us held dear deteriorated until nothing was left but the dried husk of all the “accomplishments” of man, and eventually even those memories would become nothing.
    It was quite odd, observing as the looters traversed from house to house while I waited for one of them to try to break in so I could blow their **** head off with the new .45 handgun I’d picked up merely a few days before the **** hit the fan. My heart pounded as I waited by the door, knowing that any **** who walked through that door would only need one bullet to the head to put a damper on any other thieves from attempting to steal my ****.
    A noise came from down the hall and the adrenaline began to course through me. I could feel it flowing so effortlessly through my veins and into my brain, slowing driving my thoughts towards murder. Soon, I wanted one of these **** to get close to my door, so I could burst my way out and unload the entire goddamn clip into their worthless flesh.
    “No, I must keep my wits,” I whispered to myself. “Theirs no telling how dangerous these bastards may be.” Luckily, the noise died down and so did the adrenaline high. Taking a deep breath moved away from my door and sat down to smoke a cigarette. I could still feel the after-effects of the adrenaline causing my limbs to shake, which made it quite difficult to light the **** cigarette.
 After taking a long drag, I began thinking about how I need to get out of this **** city. Theirs too much **** here and my body was too exhausted to deal with it for the last two years of anyone’s life. Jesus, I just want to enjoy myself for these last precious moments before that fireball came down and incinerated everything humans worked so hard to accomplish. It’s quite ironic and somewhat humorous that humans sought immortality for so long, building, creating, imagining, all in the hope that they would be able to leave their mark for future generations to admire and remember them by. Memories were the only thing that kept someone alive after their body was feeding the **** worms, and yet all of the memories would be destroyed in such a short amount of time.
    Staring out into the street I saw another new cult marching down the street, with its members screaming about the end times, and how the only way to be saved is to follow their bitch asses in whichever way they told you to go. I knew from the very start of this that it would undoubtedly lead to an outbreak of primitive rational and idiotic choices.
    When such a horrendous event happens, it seems to broadcast itself to all the **** crazy fringe religions and cults that in a normally functioning society would be hastily told to **** off. However, in these times people flock to these cults in droves, hoping that this **** knows what they’re talking about and that by following them it will give them a ticket to paradise. I can’t help but feel a tinge of sympathy for these ****, despite the fact I don’t believe any of them deserve to breathe. This sympathy I felt could be compared to the sympathy you feel when theirs a dead animal in the road, theirs sadness, yet their still just a dumb animal.
    Who could blame them for attempting to find comfort, when theirs little comfort left? This made me wonder how long the comfort I felt would last before it dissipated. Only a few days ago the thought of going out and attempting to live among these beasts would fill my mind with misanthropic, homicidal thoughts; now, my mind races with only the fear that I am the only sane human left. That all the **** still alive remained alive because they’re **** crazy. Then again, maybe I’m already insane. After all, insane people are quite certain that they are the sane ones.
    Putting out the cigarette, I pondered if I should actually leave. “Why leave my home when theirs no place to really go to? After all, I can just stay here and get **** up for the next two years.” I asked no one. A laugh began to climb my throat, the whole idea of a two-year drug binge seemed hilarious, and yet I knew it felt too empty for me to really want to go through with it.
    The color of the sky began to darken to a beautiful orange and purple haze, so, deciding to continue thinking about it tomorrow, I pulled out a glass pipe and loaded in some pot. I considered starting my usual ritual to cover up the smell from my **** neighbors, but the realization came that I didn’t have to give a **** about them anymore, so I continued my smoking. Looking out the window my mind wandered to wherever it pleased and I guess I was exhausted because the next thing I fell straight asleep with the pipe in hand.
    Someone pounding on my door awoke me from my premature slumber and paranoia made a quick appearance, thinking the **** actually called the police on me. Reaching for my pistol I slowly walked towards the door. I could hear whimpering and then a cry for help, so I quickened my pace. Throwing open the door I saw… nothing. My hands were once again shaking from the adrenaline but as I turned to walk back into my apartment, I saw a child run past me towards the stairs, screaming as if hell and the devil were chasing after him. I called and began to run after him. When the boy noticed that I wasn’t whom he was running from he quickly turned and hugged my leg.
    I put my pistol back in its holster under my shirt and asked The Boy what he was running from, but no words came out of his mouth, only quiet whimpers and sobs. I asked if he wanted something to eat and he nodded so I began leading him back to my home. “There’s where that little **** went,” I heard a voice say. Looking up I noticed it was another who lived in the apartments for a while; I bothered learning his name, so I always called him “****-face.” He always rubbed me the wrong way and he always had an odd air about him, and his expression, normally one of meekness, was one of sadistic pleasure as he saw the boy holding on to my leg. The Boy let out another whimper and buried his face deeper into my leg.
    “I see you found my little buddy,” ****-face said. His eyes seemed filled with a frenzy I’d not seen in years, but I knew what that look meant.
    “I didn’t know you got hard for little boys, ****-face,” I said, my hand hovering over where my holster was. ****-face looked at me with those creepy eyes and laughed, causing a shiver to run down my spine. He pulled out a knife from his pocket saying, “Now why don’t you just bring the little boy back to me and you don’t have to get hurt. It’s not like he’s your kid or anything, why would you care about him like I do?”
    “I didn’t know sodomy was considered caring,” I said trying my hardest not to break eye contact with him while still watching where the knife was. “Now why don’t you just spare this boy of having to deal with your three inch dick, ****-face, and let us just go our separate ways.” He began walking towards me with the knife and instinctively I drew my pistol and fired. Their was no hesitation, no qualms about pulling the trigger and putting a bullet right in ****-face’s chest. He fell backwards, sobbing and bleeding everywhere. I said nothing and lead the boy past him and into my apartment. After a few minutes, no more noise came from outside.