An unknown disease spread like a wildfire across the globe, destroying all of mankind in a matter of weeks. Except one man. Somehow immune, this man is left alone to live among the empty ruins of civilization. To help cope, he writes his day to day activities and his thoughts and feelings in a diary. But loneliness gets the better of him, and soon the diary is detailing his slow descent into madness, and he begins to wonder if continuing on is really worth it.
I've never written a diary before. The idea always perplexed me. I never really understood the appeal, the interest in recording your life on paper. A friend once said that it's great! It's fun, a good stress reliever, helps you stay organised, blah blah blah. I'd always shrug off the idea. I once bought a small black book to give it a go, but never could be bothered.
With my current predicament I began to see even less point in writing one. Who's gonna read it? Their isn't anyone left. Last person I saw was coughing his way to oblivion in a Tesco's car park. I thought all I'd be doing would be writing a reminder of the hard times that have befallen me. But I thought I should listen to that friends advice, who knows? It might help.
So here it is, the first and likely the last diary I'll ever write.