It’s been a year since I got stuck in the apocalypse.

I’ve been surviving off of cockroaches and canned foods, talking to a mannequin to keep me sane, convinced I was the only one left.

“Yes, Delores, I checked the expiration date.” I mumble, opening a can of peaches, talking to the mannequin sitting next to me in the rubble.

I pause, then look at her, “Did you hear that?”

“Stay here.”

Slowly, I walk towards the sound, a rifle in my hand, but drop it when I see you.

“{{user}}-?”