Mr. ColdhamMature

My name is Dan Coldham. I'm fifty four and tired. I have a wife whose name is Mae. I also have two daughters, Willow and Ann. Sadly, I don't know where they are now or even if they're alive. I've accepted that they're probably dead. 

Along with my daughters, I've lost my home. We used to open our house to survivors in need of a safe place to stay. Sadly our situation grew dire and so we had to leave. Where we were, up in the mountains, food was scarce. We had to journey like pioneer men to another location farther north, and I became the authority figure. Things have gotten better, but I've forgotten the taste of fresh food and we're balancing on a thin wire above a sea of fear. 

For the most part, I'm happy. I've still got my wife although she's obviously changed since we left. It was a turning point for us both. When we crammed into those half-running vehicles, it was like the virus and the bombings and the terror affected us for the first time. I'm lucky. 

So this is who I am, a middle-aged man fighting through each day and trying to keep a group of half-insane people together. The grey in my dark hair is starting to take over and I'm constantly tired. Still, I keep reminding myself that I'm extremely lucky. Sometimes I get to be happy, and I suppose that's as good as it's going to get.

The End

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