It’s just me and my dog down here. I crack open another bottle of distilled water and wonder how long it will be before I can drink anything fresh again, before my tongue tastes food that isn’t canned.
Max doesn’t even beg for the canned goods anymore. His old face has whitened over the years, and his joints don’t work well. Still, old boy is going to see what happened after the bombs dropped, and unlike me, he’ll probably have a celebration.
This was written for the Weekend Writing Prompt #84, Celebration. The Ol’ North State’s been hit hard by the recent snowstorm, so it feels like nuclear winter up in here. Hopefully it’ll stop soon enough!