This dystopia is on the opposite end of the spectrum...instead of a strict and regulated world...everything is given over to emotion. You do what feels right not what helps society.
Owen woke up with a start as his alarm went off. His hand flew immediately to his gun before he realized that it was just his alarm clock and not the intrusion alarm. He ran a hand through his oily, matted blonde hair and took a deep breath before heaving himself out of bed to begin the trudge through another day.
He thrust his pistol along with a few extra clips into the waist of his pants before heading outside to his well to splash some water on his face and maybe under his arms as well.
Once he had finished washing up he went to inspect the heavy wall of barbed wire and cement and spikes to make sure that it was all still intact and nobody had broken it last night while he slept. It wouldn't do to have people sneaking in and stealing his water or poisoning his well.
"Please," a voice rasped on the other side of the wall, "please, can I just have some water?"
Owen shook his head, he wanted to give the water...but he couldn't, if he gave the water to one man, then everyone would hear about how Owen had been kind to someone. Then there would be flocks of needy people at his doorstep doing everything they could to get in...and Owen couldn't have people getting in...who knows what they would do...very likely he would lose everything he had worked so hard to build here in his self-fashioned compound. It was a little lonely in here though with no one else allowed in. That was the price of safety these days though, ever since the government had stepped down and allowed people to do as they pleased.
"Go away before I decide to shoot you," Owen sneered in the most aggressive voice he could muster.
"Just a cup-full! Please! I haven't had water in two days!" Owen could hear the tears in the voice. He closed his eyes for a few moments gathering up his will to say no. He hated it. Every time this happened he hated that he had to say no.
"Go away now, or I WILL shoot you!" he screamed. Letting his frustration flow into his shout. With that he turned on his heal and went back inside; not waiting for the stranger to ask again.
Inside, he grabbed an uzi and slung an old M-1 Garand with a scope over his back. He had to get food for the day after all. As he left his compound, locking it up very tightly behind him, he was fully aware of several people trailing him. He sighed and hitched up his uzi into very plain sight and kept on his track toward the wooded area near by.
BOOM! The rifle shot sent echoes cracking off into the distance and a deer dropped dead to the ground. Immediately three people emerged from the forest and converged around the deer. Another shot issued from Owen's Garand, purposefully just barely missing one of the men's feet. Two of the men jumped back and fled into the forest but one continued on, seemingly undeterred. Owen sighed heavily and brought his sights to the man's hands but then he decided against it and settled the crosshaires on the man's head instead. Better to end his life now without any pain than to let what was left of society tear him apart. Anyone with any kind of physical defect or injury would not make it long in this world. Owen squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The man was dead instantly.
Owen took enough meat from the deer to last him two weeks then left the rest behind. He figured if he always left some behind then people would be less likely to attack him because he was a food source. So he always left some of his kill behind. It seemed to be working for the most part. Every once in a while there would be a new-comer who would try their luck against him, like the man who had tried to get to the kill before him. But for the most part people usually left him alone. That was his life. Alone. Alone and waiting for someone to attack.