Ever since humans have had the capacity for higher intellect, we've been convincing ourselves that death isn't final: there's an afterlife, our loved ones are in a better place,
if we hope hard enough we can still reach them. We have always concerned ourselves with thwarting death through the power of prayer. How misguided we were.
It was November 1, 2015 when reports flooded the newsroom: Humanity had just seen its first full day, in all recorded history, where not a single death was documented.
It was viewed as a divinely inspiring occurrence. Scientists were baffled. The religious praised God. And society, as a whole, found cause for celebration.
Until the trend continued for a month more.
Since then, no one has died. Babies continued to be born and, with no mediating death rate, the population skyrocketed. Food supplies soon became scarce.
Starvation soon became a first world problem. But, despite the lack of nutrition and the severe pain that came with it, our bodies refused to die. Disease sprung from the famine like hellfire.
We could feel every itch, and twinge, and ache of our sicknesses. But, still, our bodies refused to die.
We discovered that only form of relief was to destroy the brains; it didn't stop the body from living, but it provided some relief by destroying the neural receptors responsible for our pain.
Babies were born with now increasingly congenital diseases, destined for an eternity of agony and it was the duty of every equally suffering parent to take on this emotional strife.
There doesn't exist a word descriptive enough for the emotional torment of a parent who must decide to crush their newborns head at the moment of their birth.
Not even the rich were safe. Money's no longer worth anything. And once the fortress of their wealth had collapsed, they were just as susceptible as anyone.
The only people still holding up are the ones who were prepared for the apocalypse: holed up in their bunkers with stockpiled supplies.
Occasionally, a group of them will exhaust their resources and be forced to seek help outside the safety of their bunkers,
at which point those of us that are sick will descend on them; the only real source of nourishing food now is fresh human meat.
So I sit here now. Malnourishment has caused my skin to rot and my body to decay. My vocal chords have disintegrated and I'm capable of only grunts.
My muscles have weakened and I move only in a series of lurches.
And the hunger. It is ever-present. Every second of my day is defined by hunger pains.
And all I can think of is how nice it would be to feast; the succulent juicy flesh of someone who has not rotted away. I know what I want. What I need.
The only possible solace in my miserable existence.
I need brains.