If you’re reading this then it must be that not everything is lost. That mankind hasn’t been demolished by some sort of epidemic. That maybe there is one shred of hope for this world. A world that has consumed itself. A world that may or may not come to an end if mankind doesn’t realize what needs to change. My name is Isaac Matthews. I’m 20 or at least I was, meaning that if you’re reading this I’m more than likely dead. It means somehow the epidemic reached inside the room, and everyone inside is gone too. What a loss of such great people. People, even though they might not be perfect, who I released all my deepest secrets to and pour my heart out to. In a situation like this who wouldn’t. They all have a place in my heart now. Whatever is left of it. First there is Mattie Smith, the widowed-pregnant college graduate, twenty years old. Then there’s Kristopher, eighteen, the drug fiend. Lucas Mayes, fifty-five, the janitor of the building, single. Haley Hill, sixteen, senior in high school. Tucker Brown, 23, High School teacher. Jackie Perez, 30, mother of one, married, unemployed. Yes, these people, as different as they may be, became my best of my friends.
The ticking of the clock is the only thing that seemed to stay continuous throughout the three days. Tick. Tick. Tick. Over and over. It’s dial kept spinning, and so did the world. No matter what goes on outside, the world keeps on spinning. The sunlight crept through a little crack in the window. We had covered the window up so the outside couldn’t see us. So the epidemic wouldn’t reach us. All day that little crack was our little light for the day. At night the room was pitch dark. You couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face. But all of us kept talking. Kept our minds off of the problem. But my mind never left the consequences of all humanities actions. They must have taken to much of something and thrown off the balance or maybe this was the end of the world. No matter what the world did. Maybe it was just time and we were just sitting ducks waiting. Waiting for it all to be over. Who knows? We’ll never know. But that’s my opinion of what was happening. But lets talk about me so I will never be forgotten. When we I first woke up it was nothing but confusion. Tears. Laughter. Screams. All kinds of emotions were released. I awoke to find myself on top of a table. The room looked like some sort of office but not one that was used often. One that was just used as a supply room. Boxes were stacked everywhere. I remembered why I was in the office building. I had to bring my sister some lunch. She had called and asked. I for one didn’t have a job. I just sat at my little apartment, with my cat, Bruster. Ate my frozen dinners and slept alone. I had lived alone since I was 16 years old. It wasn’t different from living at home. My dad always drank and my mom was a pill popper. Jessica, my sister, and I would just go to school and come home and raise ourselves. I’m not even sure our parents knew when we were there or not. They just sat in the living room all day and then at night they’d go upstairs and make what they called love. To me, two people like that probably didn’t even feel anything they were doing. To high on pills or drunk on vodka. Jessica and I would just go to school and come home. Hoping that school would be our key out, and luckily it was for her more than it was for me. She made straight A’s and missed all of 6 days in her four years of high school. I wasn’t that bad of a student. I made B’s and C’s, but my interest was more into writing than all the history and math. My favorite class was literature. It’s the only class I never missed. All the others were just a waste of time. So here we are now and my sister was a lawyer in the biggest firm in the state and making a killing. I was in the city but I was stuck in a rut with my short stories and poems. They just didn’t sell here. People weren’t interested in some 20 year olds writing. Nowadays law and medicine was the only striving work forces in America. I unfortunately wasn’t interested in all the hypocrisy in America. I lost that argument. I’m not poor but I’m not wealthy either. I’m somewhere between enough food for the week and I can only buy new clothes every 6 months. Not poor but not wealthy either. This book I’m working in was found in one of the boxes. The pen, no clue it was on the floor. But I started this last will and testament type thing. I figured if we were going to die in here someone should know who we were. Not just our names. So this is what has come to be. No one is reading what everyone else is reading. It’s sort of a confessional in a book.