After all, there is no one left...

That night I enjoyed a picnic in the park with my wife and daughter, by that same lake and under that same tree. It was a wonderful summer time, we were in light suits. We enjoyed the food: sandwiches, pizza and rolls, washed down with tea and orange juice. Of course, it wasn’t quite what I expected. Usually at night I have nightmares related to upcoming battles with monsters. I remembered the night conversation with Katya. Then I also thought that nothing would happen, and then zombie Katya attacked me in the kitchen. For several minutes I just lay with my eyes closed on the bed, trying to understand where trouble could come from today. Perhaps it was a hallucination, but I felt the touch of a child’s hand on my neck. The bed creaked. A lock of soft hair tickled my nose. I opened my eyes and saw Yulia sitting to my left. Her beautiful green eyes were filled with tears, and her wheat-colored hair was matted. I sat down on the bed, leaning my elbows on the pillow. When I looked closer, I saw that Yulia’s clothes were covered in blood. — Who are you? — I asked with horror. My voice was shaking. — Your daughter, daddy, don’t you recognize me? — She exclaimed, making a face. — You can’t be here… There are no people in this world… — I muttered uncertainly. — Why do you think so? Mommy and I have been looking for you for a long time and now we have found you! Aren’t you glad? — Tears flowed down her cheeks. — Fine. But a question to check: what did I call you? — I asked, relaxing, but not completely. — Julie… — she whispered. Having heard the correct answer, I hugged the girl. Suddenly I started crying myself. I began to complain to Yulia about all my troubles: how scared I was when I got here, what despair I felt, how scary it was to be in the clutches, and sometimes tentacles, of monsters, how hard yesterday was… She just stroked my head. Her thin fingers ran through my hair. So soft… I felt them scratching my skin. I looked up at my daughter’s face. The front fangs elongated and pierced the lower lip. The lower part of his face was covered in blood. Her eyes were swollen, as if she didn’t realize what she was doing. One of the hands squeezed my neck, and the other tore my head. It’s like I’ve died. With a sharp movement, I threw the girl to the side, she fell out of the bed. I reached out with my hand to the pistol lying on the bedside table. He wasn’t there. I took the lamp and raised it above my head. My “daughter” crawled onto the bed again. A second, and her head met the lamp. She squealed and collapsed on the floor. The latter turned red from the blood that covered him. I sighed heavily and put the lamp on the nightstand. He got out of bed and, stepping over his body, went to the kitchen, knowing that when I returned, the room would be empty. He took out a pack of wheat cereal, poured it into a bowl, and washed it. Peeled the onion, chopped and fried. Peeled and grated the carrots. Added to the onion. I took out a box of champignons from somewhere in the refrigerator, washed them, dried them and cut them. Added to vegetables. I poured in the cereal and continued to fry. Pour boiling water over it, add pepper and salt. He stirred, closed the lid and sat down at the table, timing it for half an hour. I didn’t know why I started cooking this porridge. Perhaps because my mother cooked it for me. The taste was erased from memory, but the recipe remained. I winced — again the memories. Part of it was nice, it helped me keep in touch with my past self and not get lost in my thoughts. But it also brought melancholy to my already sad existence. It wasn’t even life—existence. Half an hour has passed. I removed the porridge from the pan and put it on a plate. After eating, I put the dishes in the sink. Turning on the water, I suddenly remembered the song and began to pronounce its words. Half a minute later I was belting out the song at the top of my lungs and swaying to the beat of the melody. I went for another walk. As I approached the park, I heard a dog barking. Turning around, I saw a black Labrador with shiny eyes and a protruding tongue. I stopped, allowing the dog to come closer to me. He nuzzled my legs and I stroked his face, between his ears. The Labrador liked this caress so much that he threw me to the ground. At first I laughed, but, remembering the experience with Yulia, I panicked. I carefully rolled over on my side to reach the pistol that was in my jacket pocket. The dog seemed to sense something and growled. I took the safety off and fired. The Labrador made an incomprehensible sound, definitely not like the growl of a dog, but more like the squeal of a baby. I got up from the road and dusted myself off. He put the gun back in his pocket and continued on his way. I took a walk, so to speak. But when I found myself at the lake under the willow tree, I again forgot about all my problems. There was lightness in my chest again. I breathed in the fresh air and sank to the damp ground. After sitting, I moved back. I was surprised at myself: I usually get a bunch of things done in a day, and then go to bed exhausted, but ready for the next day. For the last few weeks I’ve been wanting to sleep by lunchtime. At home I just lay down on the sofa and turned on the TV. This time it was a harmless comedy. I didn’t remember its name, but I had a good time. After having lunch with the porridge left over from breakfast, I took out several sheets of paper and several pencils that I had found in the nursery yesterday. Drawing has never been my strong point, but this activity has always helped me relax. While straightening my hair, I felt a small bump on my neck. There was another one nearby. I realized that the Labrador managed to bite me unnoticed. The only thing unknown was what the dog was sick with. But this explained my universal fatigue. Without having dinner, I went into the bedroom, lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, immediately falling asleep.