One is One-and All Alone Excerpt: Last night, I murdered a man. He wasn’t the first, nor will he be the last, I suspect, and I don’t regret such things since they were done to survive. In this case, however, there was more to it. But I’ll get to that in due course.
This morning, I buried him in an unmarked grave, dumped a load of broken concrete over it, and after the events of the past two and a bit years, I think it unlikely anyone will dig there for any reason for a long time to come. In other places, in other countries, I have little doubt people still live, but where I live, almost everyone died and I am alone most of the time—by my own choice, mind you. I’ve lived alone much of my life, and truthfully, I like it that way; people complicate things.
Tonight, I’ll sleep well, one great danger is gone, although I am well aware there are and will be, many more, and my life may not be long beyond the years I’ve already had. I’m writing of the events in case anyone from some time in the future finds my home and is interested. Or if those around me survive, increase in numbers, and become a community again. I’d like to leave a record in case that’s so. And with that in mind, I’ll continue writing so long as I can. I’ll begin where things began to change for me, in 2034 with the death of my father…