A LETTER FOR MY BROTHER

Before the events of The Road, the father recalls several letters. Letters he kept after the Apocalypse. He strongly remembers one in the middle of that difficult night. It's one from his brother.

Dear brother,

It's been long since the last time I wrote you. How is my little nephew doing? I hope he grew up well. I really want to see him.

Things here aren't really good. Mama is really sick and Dad hasn't showed up in days. It's too cold outside and I'm afraid he will get lost. We ain't got any food left. We merely survive. Yesterday we had to eat Toto our cat for dinner. Remember how he used to cuddle? Good ol' days.

The neighborhood is actually really bad. Mrs. Hansen left with her husband but we found them dead a few days later. You know. Cannibals everywhere. Bodies disassembled. Cut in half. Filled in blood. It's terrifying. It's inhuman. What kind of beasts could have done that? But then I look outside the window. And I understand… Could there be any choice?

We are lucky to be alive. People nearby die one by one. It's to kill or to be killed nowadays. Though many of them are just afraid. It's hard but… As long as there trees and ropes… Guns? Pfff… No bullets to waste. Not even enough guns to protect ourselves. We can't ask for such comforts.

We are afraid too. I think we should just end this. Mama won't last much longer. And me… I'm just a ghost. I haunt our old shelves. Searching for stuff to care about. To hope for. 'Cause there's nothing really out there. Except from death I suppose.

Every moment something inside me dies bro. God has abandoned us. I never really believed in this crap, have I? But, sometimes… It's nice to have some imaginary friend to hope for. To hope he can make things better. Or just less shit.

In the end, what is it worth to fight for anyway? Huh? We don't eat. We don't smile. We don't breathe. We don't live. Even the houses fall apart on themselves. And it's really cold brother.

At nights I wonder how could all these happen. Kinda funny when you think about it, isn't it? Better than having nightmares. Or living them awake. I don't cry anymore. Can't afford to lose more water from my body for something it won't change.

I'm pain as I write you. It's probably because my body's collapsing. I don't have much strength in me. Starvation, sadness, disease… Too much to handle for an old son of a bitch like me. But I will likely get pass that too. Unfortunately.

I'm running low on paper and ink so probably that's the last letter you receive from me. I really hope we can meet again to see my little man again. If there's life after death… I'll meet you there. I promise.

Love,

Your brother