The Last Man Alive

by joetwo

In the middle of a desolate scene, a pile of bricks started to shift. They lifted up and tumbled over to one side revealing a heavy steel door. A head stuck out, a man, who climbed up to stand again in the light of day. He looked around nervously for a few seconds than called back down through the open door.

A second head, that of a woman, appeared and she climbed up to stand beside the man. They had sheltered together inside their buried enclave and had somehow managed to survive the calamity that had afflicted the world.

They looked out at what remained; it wasn’t much. What was once great buildings was only scorched rubble and on the ground between there was no life, not a single weed could be seen to grow. No contrails or birds could be seen in the sky.

As far as they could tell they were the only living things left in the world.

The woman turned to the man to find him looking back at her, his face distorting into a grin. That was the last straw.

“I have told you a thousand times Phil!” she shouted at him, her eyes rolling in anger and frustration “Even if you were the last man alive I still wouldn’t sleep with you!”

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Written for Trifecta Week fifty-eight

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