by Nic Olson
I awoke this morning with the most peculiar of feelings. I couldn’t really put my finger on exactly what the feeling was, but it was unpleasant, it was stale, it was cold. Likely stirred on by my subconscious, because my dreams have been pretty gnarly lately, when remembered. The closest thing I could think of to adequately explain the sensation I had was this: It felt like everyone in the city was dead, or dying, except me. The apocalypse. And so far I’ve had nothing to prove wrong this feeling. My roommates are sleeping, probably hungover, zombie-like beings. The highway just outside the apartment is strangely quiet. It is overcast and cold. And I have this instinctive feeling that I am the only human being on earth.
My throat still scratches from yelling with my entire body’s strength at the Rider game. My head still slightly itches from the watermelon juice. My knee still hurts from kicking the orange highway divider in anger. That is love for the game. Post apocalypse, this will change.
My last bar of soap has been reduced to a mere sliver of usability. My feet emit odours never smelled before in this world. My clothes smell sour or stale or like they were urinated on by a cat. This is hygiene at its absolute best. Post apocalypse, this will not change.
We watched a 30 minute firework show last night from the second floor of a barge-parkade. I wondered what aliens would think if they saw us, thousands of viewers with childlike eyes, watching firing yellows and flashing blues. They probably think we are real dumb. And I guess that this thought alone is what saved me from the apocalypse. So far.
So today I will go out on the town, forget about this all, eat crepes and tacos and so on and watch hippies make music, all to convince myself that we indeed are not currently in the apocalypse. All to convince myself that people aren’t dying everywhere, and living like they’re already dead… Based on this, today, like many other days, I will likely understand that the apocalypse is now. Say your prayers.