Strangers in the Empty Playground

Day 1

It’s likely that no one’s ever going to read these words, but on the off chance that there’s anyone out there, I’m still going to write them down.

Well, “alive” isn’t entirely accurate. Not because I’m a ghost or anything, but mostly because no one really died. I guess they could’ve. Maybe. I’m not really sure.

Maybe I should start from the beginning.

I woke up and got ready to go to class, trying to call my mom on my way there, but she didn’t pick up. It was weird, but I didn’t think anything of it—not until I stepped outside, anyway. That was when I realized it was quiet. Too quiet.

No cars were speeding down the road, and there wasn’t a single person on the street.

It was strange, the quiet. I remember clearly thinking it was the first time I’d heard birds chirping on my usually busy street.

When I got to my car—suspicious, but still adamant about not missing my morning class—and turned it on, I tried to dial my mom again.

And then my dad.

And my sister.

No one answered the phone.

Every radio station was silent, nothing but various degrees of static noise when I switched channels. News sites all stopped their updates at 11:59 the night before, and no one had updated their socials since then, either.

At first, I thought it was all a huge prank or something. That I was being filmed and that the moment I gave up and descended into madness, I was going to go viral on social media. But I think even then, when I drove past those empty, familiar streets, I knew.

This isn’t a prank.

This is the end of the world.

Needless to say, I didn’t end up going to class this morning.

That was 5 hours ago, and during that time I’ve taken my beat-up car for a ride. I had to make sure. I drove all across town, and then onto the next, and the next. By the fifth city it’s starting to become clear:

I’m alone.

Everyone’s disappeared.

There’s that Robert Frost poem about how the world will end—fire, or ice.

If you’re asking me—well, pre-apocalypse me—I’d say we’d probably all kill each other using nuclear weapons or something.

My friends would have suggested something cooler, like a deadly plague.

My sister would have argued for zombies.

But this apocalypse is none of these things. It’s almost… boring.

Because the world didn’t really end. Only the people did.

Except, of course, me.

Journaling usually puts my mind at ease, but I guess that end-of-the-world-journaling is different to my regular venting, because that got really depressing really quickly. Instead, I try to regroup.

Call it survivor’s instincts kicking in, but I know that if I want to have even the slightest chance of figuring out what the hell is going on, I need to have a plan.

I like plans. I’m good with plans. And if putting pen to paper is going to be what saves me from the crippling anxiety of being the literal last person on the face of the earth, then so be it.

…Back to it.

I’d grabbed a big notebook and a box of pens from a Target—I think it was in the third or fourth town—and now I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot. Yes, one might’ve thought I’d be more adventurous being the only person around, but I don’t want to be adventurous. I want answers.

I tap my pen on my chin and try to think. In order to have a plan, I need to have a goal.

Surviving? That sounds too simple. There isn’t really anything to stop me from doing that. Or anyone, for that matter.

Finding answers? Maybe, but am I really going to figure out why everyone boarded a choo-choo train into invisibility town and only I stayed behind? That sounds a bit too… cosmic for me to ever be able to understand.

Finding people, I eventually decide, scribbling it down.

Main goal: finding people.

Because once I’m not alone in this mess, I’ll be able to figure out my next move.

But where do I even begin to look? Driving around aimlessly feels stupid, but it doesn’t seem like I have much choice. I need to specify my search. ‘Everywhere’ feels too broad, impossible for me to concur on my own.

Who disappeared?

I add it to the paper shakily. Could it really be everyone? Am I completely alone?

If there is anyone else left, I realize, I have to be careful. An empty world means there are no rules, as demonstrated by my lawless theft of stationery, and I’ve watched enough Purge movies to know other people might not be so polite with their crimes.

I drive down the main street of the town I’m in until I find a fishing and hunting store, and grab a knife from the display, just in case. I don’t really know how to use it, but it makes me feel better to have it in my hand.

It can’t be too complicated, I assure myself. Just stick ‘em with the pointy end.

If there are any ‘‘em’ left.

I’m either completely alone, or I’m not, and both options are equally terrifying.

When did they disappear?

This question feels like it’ll require more in depth snooping around than what I’ve done so far, so I steel myself and decide to enter a house. I choose at random, trying to convince myself that it’s not trespassing, just like raiding the supermarket earlier wasn’t theft; I have to eat to survive.

Of course, my guilty self still left some bills on the counter.

The house is so silent it’s eerie, and I nearly jump out of my skin when the electric hum of the fridge starts out of nowhere.

There’s a pot of untouched coffee on the counter and a plate with toast and eggs, and un-spread jam next to it.

I spot bowls of water and food on the floor, for a cat, maybe, but no furry friend comes to greet me.

Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen any animals. Did they disappear, too?

You heard birds on your street just this morning, I point out to myself, but when I really think about it, I don’t actually remember seeing any.

I fill the water and food bowls anyway.

Sitting at the dining table with my notebook makes me feel uneasy, as if I shouldn’t really be here, in a stranger’s kitchen.

I sniff the toast as though it might have some distinct smell, which, of course, it doesn’t, and then I hesitantly take a bite.

It tastes just as I expected; stale, and a few hours old.

I set it aside. The groceries I got earlier will have to do.

My short list of questions feels useless as it stares back at me. Can I really micromanage the end of the fucking world?

I’ll sure as hell try, but…

Maybe this is all a dream, I try to convince myself as I snap the journal shut and head outside the house.

The sun’s starting to set, and when I look at my phone, my brows shoot up at the time.

The day just zoomed by. Maybe I’ll go to sleep and wake up in my dorm bed and everything will be back to normal.

But as I park my car in the outskirts of the town I’m in, I get the feeling that I won’t. I lock the doors and climb to the back seat, falling asleep with the hunting knife clutched to my chest, just in case.