It had been one month since the beginning of the end of the world. Looting was inevitable if you wanted to survive, and he knew better than most of what a post-apocalyptic survival rate would be without some sort of small supply of pre-packaged, preserved food. It'd been two weeks since his world of organized chaos came crashing down around him. Now it was just chaos. No more communications. No phone, TV or anything of any use on the few remaining, crackly radio frequencies.
His wonderful coat now had a large tear in it, just near the bottom of his back, allowing a slightly too cool breeze to filter across his body. The pathetic excuse for a shelter that he's managed to secure does little to calm his worried mind of an attack at night from the less fortunate left to wander the wastes of London outside. The four shopping carts of looted food, tinder, lighters, blankets and a few spare clothes would probably last him a couple of months if he remained resourceful and guarded his small treasure carefully.
The reassuring weight of a standard, military issue revolver sat heavily in his jacket pocket. Over the last two weeks, he's had a mind to simply turn the gun on himself. But something always stops him. He would prefer to believe it's simply because he's too much of a coward to actually do the job, over the other possibility that shoves any other thought of giving up out of his mind. Staring down the barrel of the gun that he's practically shared for nearly five years, seems to always conjure an image of the guns other owner; lying, broken and dying on the street, under rubble, lost in the sea of other bodies. More than once, the gun has been thrown across the room in a fit of rage, fear, and frustration.
The beginnings of the sun's rays starts to shine through holes in the tiled roof above, catching free floating dust particles and forming a beam of beautiful, golden light. Why bother? He thinks bitterly to himself. Without anyone here to share it with, it may as well burn my eyes and blind me. Do me a favour, so I don't have to suffer seeing the images of utter destruction and disarray; people outside turned savages so quickly, and knowing that my good friend, best friend, was – IS out there! He turned away from the sight and puffed almost desperately on a slightly soggy, foul tasting cigarette. Both of them had made an effort to kick the habit - and they had - but right now, he feels that if he can't soothe his frayed nerves with the calming nicotine, he may well go insane.
Why aren't you out there? Looking for him? He asks himself, every morning he awakes. Because I'm a coward. But he's your best friend, your only friend in this broken world! He winces whenever this thought comes to mind I know! But what can I do? It's not much use if I die as well! It is far more logical to stay where it's safe. Well… as safe as you can get, here. But then comes the final rebuttal his mind can throw at him, and there's never anything he can say in reply. But he might not be dead. And if you don't go look for him, and save him… then he will die.
Deciding that sitting around moping all morning wasn't going to get him anywhere, he got up and climbed on the unstable roof, surveying the damaged city below. If he looked far enough in to the distance, he could just make out the crumbling remains of their old home. Below, a fight broke out among those unlucky enough to survive the rain of death that fell from the sky. He looked on, completely uninterested, but for lack of anything better to do.
He can remember exactly where he was when the first bomb hit the ground. They were out at their usual Chinese take-away, it was just reaching late afternoon and the city was calm, almost humming contentedly. Contentedly that is, until the world began to end. People began screaming and running wildly down the street. Panic flooded his veins and caused him to lose his bearings in the rapidly moving crowd. Almost everyone in the street ducked in unison when a fighter jet screamed overhead. It was silent for a few seconds as everyone finally began to understand what was happening. Mere seconds before chaos broke out again; he stood and grabbed the arm of his friend, tugging him off the street and out of harm's way. Then the rain of fire and pain began to fall.
Nowhere was safe. They both agreed to find things they would need to survive. Training and logic told them both that they needed supplies, something to protect themselves with and a shelter of some sort. The bombs fell for three days and people died in the streets. Blood ran freely in the gutters and those who survived turned in to animals. On the morning of the fourth day, his friend turned to him. 'I think the bombs have stopped. There's nothing left for them to destroy. I need to go and check on my family. I need to see they're… still here.' His friend couldn't be leaving him. Not now.
'It's too dangerous! We don't know that this is all over yet.' His friend just looked at him sympathetically
'That's why I have to go see them.' With that, his friend stood, grabbed one of their stolen shotguns and a box of shotgun rounds, then left, disappearing in to the red morning light, pointedly leaving behind the military revolver beside his friend. 'I'll be back. I promise.'
'Don't go, John.'
'I have to, Sherlock.'
He never came back. It had been three weeks since his best friend had left him, and he has yet to return. Is he still looking for his family? Or has he joined the countless millions lying in the streets? You're still too much of a coward to go and find him. What sort of a friend are you? What happened to the Great Detective, Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock's mind spat poisonously, at him again. "I know! What would you have me do?" He screamed to the burning sky. Go find him.
He stood, the rip at the knee of his jeans tearing just a little more. He ensured the comforting weight of his military revolver was in his pocket, a packet of potato chips and some dried meat, and a lighter before setting off, leaving behind his shelter and his looted food. Hopefully, he'll find his friend quickly, bring him back to their shelter, and they'll ride out the rest of this fallout from World War III together.
