This is a continuation of the small short story One with a different voice.
I somehow survived the fire, the hell-rain that fell upon the world. The wind howled, spreading the destruction. I managed to hide when the fallout occurred; what I hid in barely held. Had it been a little longer, I would not be alive.
But once I had stepped out of my safe haven, I immediately wished I had died. When I stepped out from under my cover, I saw the pain. I still see it now, all I see is the pain that my world has suffered and will continue to suffer. For how long, I don’t know.
I look around in utter disbelief. I see no human and no creature. The sky is red and the earth is burned. I grab my head and squeeze, attempting to make any sense of what has just occurred, shutting my eyes and hoping it is simply a dream. I look around once again and the reality sinks in. I feel my hair fall; as I run my hands across my scalp, all of my hair falls off.
I walk in this wasteland, this fallout zone of nuclear toxicity. I see nothing but ruin. No human or creature. I am the last human on this desolate land.
I am the last human alive.