My hands worked swiftly as I tied an imperfect knot with a worn rope that was just big enough to fit around my head. I teetered to the left as I glanced downwards at the few feet of space between me and the floor.

I didn't notice the beads of sweat seeping from my hairline. Nor the fly buzzing around the silent room. The only thing I could feel was a dull tingling sensation in my fingers. As if they were trying to tell me to rethink what I was doing.

I didn't want to live anymore.

Not with those things outside, prowling the streets day and night, infecting everything in sight.

I used to have a reason.

When things first started to hit the fan, I was with people. Initially, it was safer to travel in groups, but as the virus spread, and the infected began to outnumber the uninfected, we split up. Some set out to find a safe sanctuary that didn't exist and others, like myself, just looked for a place to hide.

But by the end, I was the only one left.

Just a lone survivor who had little interest in living without my reason.

The rough rope scraped at my neck as I adjusted it to my liking. I managed to ease it into a position that was comfortable.

If I was going to finally die, it would be at my own doing and pace.

I could manage rabid humans in the streets and living on the tips of my toes. That wasn't difficult.

What wasn't manageable was finding a reason to keep my own life going after 99% of humans was turned into psychotic cannibals. This epidemic may have only started a few months ago but that was still enough time for the world, me along with it, to fall into despair.

Hope for a cure had long since disappeared.

Word of an untouched miracle sanctuary didn't exist.

And there's no way to permanently exterminate the infected for good.

I'd tried that.

When I was first left alone, with no one else to turn to, it had been my goal.

I'd from city to city and lured as many infected as possible, with car sirens, gunshots, and even fireworks, into one area where I'd already spilled gasoline, paint thinner, or any other chemical mixture I could come up with without blowing myself up. Then, when there were enough of them, I lit a match.

Fire spread across their numbers like dry hay.

Watching them burn was one of the only things that made me feel anything. But it was similar to the same painful satisfaction you feel when picking off an old scab. Eventually you start bleeding again, and the scab grows back.

That was when I was still content with just killing them. I had barely scratched a dent into their population and once I came to realize that, I stopped.

Then I went from trying to kill the infected to trying to kill myself.

So, here I am, barley a second away from hopping off a rickety chair with a makeshift noose around my neck. Even though I should have been worried about where I was going after death I was more concerned about whether or not my rope would be strong enough to do the job right for once.

That fly swept past my nose as I relaxed my shoulders. My eyes shut gently as though I was preparing for a nap. My heart was beating erratically but I didn't feel nervous.

I didn't feel anything.

My body was worried about dying but my head wasn't. I had wanted this for a while and it was finally time.

I inhaled deeply as my weight shifted forward.

One slip and it was all over.

Alleviation was near.

My legs began to lean further to the point where it was hard to maintain my balance without feeling the stiff pressure of the rope around my neck.

I didn't mind the slight pain.

It was reassuring.

I breathed in, one last time, feeling the air fill my lungs, before the very familiar sound of nearby gunshots rang through the air.

They were faint but noticeable.

One of my eyes cracked open as my expression shifted from peaceful to peeved. I didn't move and inch before quickly shutting my eyes once more as the gunshots briefly subsided and I was left in still silence again.

The quiet didn't last.

More gunshots pierced through the walls of my safe house that was really just a crummy apartment room. The shots sounded like they were drawing closer

Great.

Irritably, I removed the noose from around my neck, nearly losing my footing on the chair as it wobbled under my weight. After stepping down, I impatiently pulled back the curtains with a clenched jaw to peek through the small crack in the window to look down at the street below.

What inconsiderate a-holes were interrupting my suicide?