Grass.

  Buildings.

  Cars.

  More grass.

  Plants.

  Metal.

  What are these called again?

  It's morning.

  I'm thinking about words.

  Thinking in words... it's been getting more and more difficult.

  Am I going to lose them?

  Train racks...?

  No, train tracks! Those are train tracks!

  It's morning and I'm living.

  I'm alive... I think.

  I'm alone.

  There was something about mornings... right?

  People counted them?

  Back in the old times... I think.

  Now mankind has long stopped counting the years.

  If there even is something I can call mankind.

  For all I know they have all but me died out, leaving me alone in this dark and dangerous world. The only one who can protect me is myself.

  The only reliable one in this world is myself.

  The only one making sure I don't end up like one of the monsters, is again myself.

  Even with the fact that the world has practically ended for my kind, the sun still rises and after a while, it goes down again.

  If you want to know how this all started, you're asking the wrong person.

  Because I don't care.

  Surviving till the next day is the only thing left on my agenda.

  Even though dying might seem nice, becoming one of those things would be horrible.

  I glance out of the window from the old train, watching the rising sun, all the while clutching the handle of my spear.

  I made the thing myself so it's pretty shabby looking, but at least it does the job right and keeps the monsters at a distance.

  Quietly and swiftly I leave the dark, abandoned vehicle.

  If I stay here any longer they might find out after all.

  Vigilantly I follow the tracks to the station, ready to fight or flight at any moment.

  Those hungry bastards aren't getting me for dinner!

  I won't be their prize nor the one they might see as a hero.

  Though I highly doubt that they are able to either 'see' or 'think'.

  As I walk into the broken down, but still dark train station I notice that even though it's in a bad shape. It still has some beauty in it.

  It's an old train station, most of the part that has collapsed is the newer, later build-on part.

  The old part is still standing strong.

  Yes, most of the stained glass is broken, but the ornamented walls are still clearly visible.

  Somehow giving me this really nostalgic feeling, to a time unknown to me.

  I shake my head, It's not the time to be in awe with old junk, it's all useless now after all.

  Making sure that nothing is around, I climb onto one of the platforms.

  As I wander around I suddenly notice a strange object on one of the still intact benches.

  Somehow it draws my complete attention, I cannot help myself but to investigate it.

  I hold my spear before me, so if it moves, I can kill it immediately.

  Step by step I get closer.

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  Is it dangerous?

  Is it edible?

  A million wordless questions race around in my mind, but none of them ask the right one.

  Carefully I take the object in hand.

  It's a book, my inner voice tells me.

  It's a leather bound book.

  Old, but still intact.

  Without thinking I open it.

  Not even the spiders have taken it, that's weird.

  As I see the first page, something is hand-written on the bottom. It takes a moment to understand what it says: 'EX Libris: Q. F. Shannon'

  This must have been the name of the previous owner.

  I wonder what happened to them.

  Though that is completely unimportant.

  I turn a couple of pages and find more small black words scribbled on them in a strange form of...writing.

  They make me feel... lightheaded... that's the word... right?

  Suddenly I sense a presence behind me.

  I take out my weapon and attack whatever is standing there.

  Somehow it goes right through...

  I can feel my heart pumping quickly.

  Cold sweat slowly makes its way down my neck and back.

  "Good morning." A strange voice out of nowhere says to me.

  It's... speaking... human speech...

  It's speaking to me.

  Shocked by the sound, the voice of another human being, for the first time in a long, very long while, I turn around and point at them with my spear.

  It's a strange person, wearing some kind of old and strange costume. One from the lost time.

  Without speaking I threaten them with my weapon.

  They are unlike me.

  My spear should have hurt them... but it went right through!

  I can't trust them!

  I can't trust them!!

  Distrust washes over me.

  How could someone still be alive?

  And be dressed like that?!

  "Please, I mean no harm." The person says while holding up their arms

  I don't answer and only stare at them with contempt.

  Only now I've noticed that I've dropped the book as the person is looking at it.

  Have the spiders evolved this much? Or have I finally lost my mind?

  I swallow, scared of what to do next.

  The thing before me tries to comfort me: "I'm not real."

  "What... does that... mean?" I ask, having difficulty speaking, hurting my throat in the process of creating words.

  The creature nods: "I'm imaginary. I'm simply something you made up. An Imaginary friend if you will."

  Friend...?

  What did that mean again?

  Something about that word makes me agitated.

  Something about that word makes me angry.

  Something about that word makes me want to cry.

  Something about that word makes me want to scream...

  "Don't... You aren't that... I don't think..." I mumble.

  They smile at me: "Well then, I'm Quiller. You may call me that or just mister or... something else, if my name is too difficult."

  He looks at me as if waiting for an answer, but I don't.

  "So what is your name?"

  I think.

  I think deeply.

  At first I'm not sure what he means by the word 'name'.

  Then a bad memory fills my head and just in time I'm able to shake it away.

  It's been a long time since I had something of a name.

  I remember that I was called something too, it was normal back in the day.

  Back when there were still other people in the world.

  I press my hand against my chest "...Don." I whisper: "I was called... that... I think."

  Quiller gives me another smile: "That's a wonderful name, nice to make your acquaintance." He stretches out a hand and I stare at it.

  "You... are supposed to shake it..." He says as he scratches the back of his neck with his other hand.

  "Shake? But won't... it go through?"

  His expression turns to one of pain: "Yeah, sorry. You're right." He takes back his hand.

  I take the book from the ground.

  "That looks interesting." He sounds surprised.

  "I found it, it's mine." For some reason I'm clutching the heavy object against my chest as if it's my long lost treasure. Honestly I don't know why. But it feels like... I have to keep it with me.

  "So you're going to read it?"

  I skim through the pages, they're made of paper.

  "It...would make for a good fire-starter."

  Quiller's expression turns horrified: "Wait, no! You can't do that!"

  "Why?"

  "It holds someone's memory!"

  "Memory?"

  "Yes, every book is written by someone. They write it with their love, their hate, their life, their passion, their dreams. Never take another person's work too light."

  Gibberish he seems to speak.

  "Are you... one of them?" I ask nudging back somewhere.

  He sighs: "No, of course not. Have I been trying to eat you since I met you?"

  I just stare at him confused.

  He takes another look at the book: "I... think I know that book."

  I look at him questioningly.

  "Maybe you should try to read it, it has a pretty good story. You can read, yes?"

  "I'm able to read ingredients from food."

  He laughs awkwardly: "Well that's a start..."

  Without much care I put the book in my backpack and I continue my search.

  It feels strange to have someone that at least seems to be real and walking close by, especially since he doesn't seem to be hostile in any way shape or form. What most things are.

  I will keep a close eye on him, I don't really understand why I'm seeing him and I don't have another person like me here to check if I'm really making it all up in my mind.

  It really does seem like the most reality-based explanation right now, I've been alone for a long time now.

  I vaguely remember a story about someone befriending an object to stay sane after being alone for a very long time. It is said to be normal when someone is lonely.

  But even so, is that really the case right now?

  While scouting out the area, it suddenly starts to rain outside.

  I guess I have no other choice but to stay the night.

  As we walk into the inside part of the station I suddenly notice a couple of them, standing closely to the rooms that once had probably been stores.

  Their bodies made of a combination of rotting flesh, metal wiring and some of them have something like mos growing over their heads and shoulders. Water slowly dripping from their horrible monsterous bodies.

  Luckily they're standing far away, staring into space and not having noticed me yet.

  Sometimes they shake in the strange way they usually do and return to staring.

  It reminds me a bit of how they used to be when all of this started, back then they were out to kill every last human. Back then they rarely stood this still.

  I guess since most people have died, they don't have much to do anymore, so staring is probably the only thing they can do.

  Staring and standing.

  It makes me wonder if they think...

  No, that can't be true.

  Monsters like that must be unable to think, if they do it must be about devouring the innocent and weak.

  "Hey." Quiller whispers: "You should probably head the other way, they don't look very nice."

  They don't look very nice? Is he oblivious to what happened? Does he not know?

  Didn't he mention knowing of it before though? Well I should ask him later.

  Now is not the time.

  I tiptoe away from the creatures, making sure not to make a single sound.

  When it all went down, I taught myself a new way of walking which was a lot quieter than how I used to.

  Now it's second nature to me, I don't walk any other way now.

  Well, okay, if I have to run, I run and sound doesn't really matter if there is something out there that wants to rip you apart.

  I take the stairs to the second floor, scanning my surroundings thoroughly.

  More old, empty shops and a lookout onto the platforms and surrounding area.

  "Do you think I could go further up?" I ask the strangely clothed man.

  "Well yeah, this building is old and even has a clock-tower. Maybe we should try getting in there?"

  I nod approving, maybe he might be useful after all.

  It doesn't take long for us to find a small hidden passageway.

  "It should be through here." Quiller says to me.

  I look at the narrow door in the ceiling and shake my head.

  I hate small spaces, I would rather get there by climbing from the outside.

  I look outside but am only greeted by the heavy rainfall, it's almost like the clouds are laughing at me.

  Laughing at the fact that I'm scared.

  And I hate them for it.