Dear Cassie

It's been 212 days since the world ended and I miss you.

It's been difficult adjusting. So many people died. I would walk down the street (in daylight, of course) and there would be bodies. People would get together and clear them from the street, taking them away to be buried or cremated, I'm not sure. But I sometimes they missed one -- one of our neighbors died and there was nobody else in his home and nobody to check up on him. And the body just...stayed there. Eventually, people noticed the smell. The smell of rot and decay.

I'm sorry. I know you'll never read these letters, but I'm making them too morbid. I can't help it. Even though the sun still rises and the world still spins, it has, for all intents and purposes, ended. It used to be that we didn't know who pulled the strings, but now we do. Now we know the secret of life.

I mean, that's what "apocalypse" means, doesn't it? Unveiling. The reveal of the things behind the curtain. I guess everyone just thought that once the world ended, it would, well, end.

But it hasn't. Everything just keeps on going. The world spins on, even though the end has come and gone.

I'm sorry, Cassie. I shouldn't be so pessimistic. I should try to remember our times together. I should try to be better, to live as long as I can. For you. For my parents. For those who still live. And for those who died.

It's been 212 days since the world ended and I miss you.