Fast, Binge

Man's greatest achievement was free thinking: innovation. Without it we wouldn't have cultivated, have paved the world over in the image we found suitable. Without it we wouldn't have electricity, we wouldn't be able to change the flow of water, be able to change the very face of Earth. Without it we wouldn't have prospered.

Nature's greatest flaw was Man. Without Man, the world would still be pure. Without Man, the ground would be covered in it's natural greens and browns, not a sickening gray. Without Man, the water would flow free and safe. Without Man, Nature would've prospered.

I am a man. I have survived. This fact fills me with the most peculiar self-loathing. It also fills me with the most primal sort of mindless pride. Where all others have failed, have died, I remain alive. The remnants of their society have survived. My society.

This leads me to where I am now. Rust fills the air, fills my lungs, causes me to wheeze. Grays and neons are the only colors left, all of the falsetto paints and bright colors have already died away. I don't know how long ago. I was never very good with time and dates, even when it mattered. The high pitched hum of computer parts, of dying electricity, is a constant in my life. I wish that I would've found a way to drown it out by now, but I haven't. It simply remains, just like I do. I'm starting to think it's all in my head, but from time to time I come across some source of the sound: a piece of machinery, a flickering light. This reminds me that I still have some of my sanity. At times I wish I didn't.

Food, needless to say, is scarce. When I do find it, it comes from the most random sources. What's left of a car, an old building, some small animal. But everything is old now, everything is decaying. I am no exception. I have become very weak. My thoughts have become incomprehensible, even for myself. I am tortured by the constant ramblings of my own being, by my own thoughts being something I myself cannot understand. It is unbearable. I am unsure if I have lost the art of language; for the longest time I have been solitary. This is not what I had imagined in my solitude. It seems I had wished too hard to be at peace from my daily strifes.

It is an amazing thing, what a pandemic can do. At first I had thought it the Revelation, and that I had been left behind due to some sin I was unaware of. It still may be: I am unsure. If there is a god, I have done something horrible without my own consent. I have been forced to do Satan's bidding without my recollection. This is the only evil that could award me such a terrible existence, I am certain.

By now, I would've killed myself. I would've if it weren't for this terrible, primal fear of death. What is it that I fear? Can there be an existence more pitiable that this?

It didn't matter. But I had nothing but time to think anymore. It kept my mind off of the hunger.

I'm walking now. I don't know what I'm searching for, I never do. With any luck I'll find food, or at least a nice place to sleep. The clouds above me are unsettling. Storm clouds, and they're very thick. I can see them move, though not in a swirling motion like a tornado; they just move about in an order-less mess, but unsettling all the same. The worst part is their color. The clouds have a heavy green tint, and it makes me worry about what it'll be like when it rains. I decide to get somewhere where it will stay dry.

It doesn't take long to find a place to make my humble dwelling. I veer off of the paved path I'd been walking into one of the nicer looking buildings. It had been some shade of red at some point, I can tell, but now it had all but faded away entirely. Beneath the specs of paint it was obvious that the building was made entirely of a dull concrete, the color of which had been burned into my eyes over many years. Near the entrance to the door there is some greenery, of a plant I don't recognize. It is almost vine like, but I think it's too small to be a vine. I eat the plant. I know that it won't provide me any real sustenance but it will quiet my insides. As soon as I enter the building I'm hit with the smell of mold and decay. Something died here, some time ago. Thick wires dangle from the ceiling with frays coming from their ends and sides. Inside the colors are much brighter. Deep blues and yellows and oranges line everything, as was the style when these buildings were built. The colors are tainted with filth and spots from moisture.

Parts of the house are very wet, but I think I can find a few spots where I could be quite dry. I decide this building will make a proper shelter. As the rain starts, I begin to hear noises from the floor above. This could be a number of things, and my curiosity kills me. I know that there is something alive up there, something to eat. I also know that it's probably much wetter up there than it is down here, or at least that is my phobia. It hadn't been long since I had encountered a similar weather. It had burned me, caused my hair to fall out, and even as it grows back it comes in patches, and I remain totally bald in places. Only a world such as this, a world created by a mad god, could make me fear falling water, something I needed to survive. I loathe the sky above me. I loathe the paved ground beneath my feet. I loathe the gray walls that surround my every position. I loath everything. Mostly myself.

The rain continued to pour. It might have rained for days, but I never slept. The sky always stayed the same shade of gray-green. I took time to examine the building more closely. I walked through a few corridors, taking time to avoid any of the horrid liquid that was falling through cracks above me. By the way it bubbled up on the floor I knew I was smart to take to a shelter. After some time, I came across what had once been a bathroom. I was at first extremely exited: there was a rat in the toilet. Finally, I would have food. Thoughts of disgust and cleanliness were long behind me; all I needed was food. At my first step towards the rodent it scurried down the pipes, out of my reach.

In a rage I tore the pot off of the ground, separating it from rusted pipes. There was no use. There wasn't even any water left. After some thought, it occurred to me that this must have been one of the first cities to be evacuated. It would make sense. The place they described on the news would fit the description, albeit with obvious changes due to time.

God, this was grim trivia. I had to get my mind off of it somehow.

And my wish was granted. I found a mirror. I found at least what was left of it. A shard of reflective glass revealed to me what I had really become, what I looked like. I laughed out loud at the sight of myself. I no longer even resembled the general thought of a human. What was left of my white hair grew in clumps, with large patches of baldness all over my head and face. The hair that was their grew out several inches. I was little more than a skeleton with discolored skin draped over it. Some patches of my skin were red, some were almost totally white, and an alarming amount of it was starting to turn a hue of purple. This discoloration had at one point scared me, alarmed me into thinking I was sick or dying. I had long gotten over it by then though. I looked like a poorly made rag-doll with a figure more disturbing than anything made of plush could achieve. Why my own twisted being was so laughable to me I do not know, but I believe it only is evidence to my decaying state of mind.

The rain kept pouring down. It just kept pouring, its sound reverberating through the building, constant and torturous to the mind. I had so much time to think, but that simple task was away from me. The only thing I could focus on was the infuriating bellow of the acidic rain against a plastic roof. I wished it would stop. It seemed like it was pouring for days and days. I couldn't get that damn sound out of my head!

When the rain finally did stop, I was in a state of bliss. I was in a state of bliss until the memories came back to me.

It had been so long ago, I was so young then. I must have been what, ten? It didn't occur to me my exact age and it doesn't now. I was lucky to be so young though, it was the only real chance for avoiding the war. That didn't last long either, though. After a few years passed it seems they wouldn't stop at anything, they needed people to die so they wouldn't. It didn't even make sense to me anymore. Wasn't the army their to prevent the useless deaths of civilians? If there aren't any civilians left, how does that help anyone? These questions were irrelevant. We were creating new ways to kill each other, regardless of costs, regardless of rhyme or reason. So I ran. I went off to the streets of a place even more heavily populated than where I was, the bright lights and bustling streets were then attractive to me.

I found myself in the fetal position when the florescent light beside me exploded. Hot dust was everywhere, and All I heard was a high, loud, solid note. When I regained my hearing I noticed that the constant hum was louder than usual. I was scared. Quickly enough the humming died back down to its usual volume and I was able to regain what little composure I had before the incident. Red hot specs were still floating around in the air when I left the room.

Once I was able to get past the rancid smell of the rain, I began to notice that the smell of decay was even stronger. It was a sickening thought, but I braved the travel upstairs to find what I might be able to make a meal out of. Going up the stairs, I once again had a brief thought about ending my life. I figured I could just leave whatever was up here be, and go off to somewhere else and starve to death, but even as I thought this my body didn't hesitate. My feet kept moving up the staircase: towards the only source of possible food I could find for a long, long time. Regardless of what my mind thought, it couldn't stop my body. I am more of an animal than a man. Even more than before I loathe myself, I curse god for ever breathing life into my mangled body.

As I suspected earlier the condition of the building is much worse on the second floor. Yet again the ugliness of gray concrete pierces my eyes. I am suddenly furious, I want to break something, cause something harm. But there is nothing left here but gray walls and the metal wire that supports them. There may not be anything left to do harm to in this world, other than a few old pieces of furniture and electronics. My rage dies quickly, like any emotion I am subjected to in this hell of a world.

The smell gets even stronger, and I know I am getting close. I want to vomit, but there is nothing really left for my body to rid me of. Eventually I find my "meal." A decaying half of a human corpse lies before me, and it seems like the only thing worth any nutritional value is the few maggots that were lucky enough to find a meal of him. If there is a god, only he knows how they managed to reach him. I should have been appalled, I should have left him there and ran off to somewhere knew, but I didn't. I ate him, all of him. I broke his bones open for the marrow, and I ate the maggots that came along with him.

Damn me! Why am I one who is so weak to succumb to his own cravings that I am willing to give up every shred of my humanity to stay alive? Why is it that this primal instinct causes my own mind to lose it's only purpose? Why is it that I cannot efficiently generate coherent thoughts when my own sanity is at the risk of a decision? What horrible sin have I committed that could have earned me my own spot in a Hell where I can still die? I can't think of enough ways to curse the heavens, curse god. I can't stop thinking of all the things I've done wrong, that, had I done differently, would've generated a possibly happier story for me. If only I had taken shelter in a building just slightly farther away! I would've never found the man, never eaten human flesh, never corrupted myself with a deed so horrible. I would've starved to death and had it be over with.

I truly loathe myself. I wish every night that I would've already died. Been aborted. Killed as a child. Been a miscarriage.

At the very least, I may now have the motivation to kill myself.