Day 206 since nuclear fallout. Diary entry number 151. Time 11:41 PM. Temperature 53 degrees Fahrenheit.

This is my third night sleeping under the Atlantic sky, and each night I fear more and more. I fear of the world as it looks from space. No more of a pale blue dot. More of a pale orange glob. Devoid of life. Lost of hope. Empty of promises.

I may as well be the last man on Earth.

Where are the scientists to confirm it? The mathematicians to put it on paper? The news stations to broadcast it?

They’re dead. Their remains are scattered around the Earth. Decaying into nothing.

Because I’m only a statistic if someone was here to state it.

I took a nap earlier. I dreamed of a helicopter coming into to pick me up. Then I saw it spinning out of control seconds before I reached me. I saw the pilots head smash into pieces. And I saw the co pilot get chopped by the propellers. One of the windows smashed me in to the ground.

That’s when I woke up.

Upset that I wasn’t dreaming a reality.