You Always Had a Thing for Silver Linings
by Kate Sheeran Swed
When the sky first changed, I thought it was pretty. Champagne gold, like a gift. Like a Bond villain decided on the color. The more I look at it, the more I think it's actually the vomit of some alien race that decided to use Earth as a trash can.
No one expects to be around for the Last Day.
All those apocalyptic movies, they got a few things right. Like the cars jammed onto the freeway, which is where I like to do my picking. All it takes is a jimmy with a coat hanger to get me neck-deep into most trunks, stashing bottled water and canned goods in my pack.
What the movies missed? The silence. I guess that's because someone always saved the day before this point, so they never had to imagine the absence of that oh-so-human electrical hum, the water moving through pipes.
Weirder still is the absence of birds cawing and pecking, the rustle of cats in the garbage, the growl of dogs, the skitter of cockroaches (surprise! we thought they'd outlive us, but if they did, they've gone dark).
At least it's easy to sleep late.
Once you said, What if I were the last man on earth? Then would you want to... you know?
And I said, What's the point? Am I horny, or...?
You said, Repopulation, and I said You know, I never understood that, because if you're the last man and I'm the last woman, then our children would have to... you know... with each other in order to continue humanity, and we're not exactly hamsters.
And you said, OK, you're horny.