[ WP ] The four last people on earth decide to commit suicide one by one . The last man decides he can not bring himself to end his own life . Describe the remainder of his life .

It had been ten days since Matt, Anna and Eliza had done it; a gruesome scene meets me whenever I walk by the living room. Three days after they had slit their throats, I tried to move them, but no luck. I am too scared to touch them. The blood on the floor has hardened, leaving them stuck to the wood. Just the sound of their skin becoming unstuck weirds me out too much to move them. And they're cold, oh so cold. 
 
 The end of days had been exactly six years before, and it had been three since we figured we were the only four left around. There were thousands of bodies we found, and over five years, we buried most of them. It was difficult looking at the dead, let alone dragging them to their graves. After a while, we ran out of actual cemeteries, and now many of the dead are under the park. It's a shame really, the park was one of the few places we four enjoyed. It was eerily left untouched. We camped out under the stars. It was nice. After the hundredth body we buried there, our sacred land was forever unclean. 
 
 It was Matt's idea for us to end it. After unsuccessfully trying to repopulate the world, he figured we really were the last of our kind to survive. There was no more delaying the inevitable, and he convinced us it was better to give in to death, than run stay here in, as he liked to call it, Purgatory. 
 
 As soon as I saw Matt slice his neck open, I knew I could n't do it. He writhed in pain. He screamed, but there was no sound, just blood. Anna and Eliza began crying, each holding up their knifes to their throats. Anna got it over quickly. She died faster than Matt. I guess she hit the right vein, or maybe she passed out as soon as she saw herself bleed out. Eliza was n't so lucky. It was clumsy, to the point where she needed to do it again. She cried, tears spilling from her green eyes. She grabbed me as she died, begging for me to do something, but what could I do? It was ugly. I vomited. I could n't do it. I wanted to die, but I did n't want pain. Now they just sit there. 
 
 All I have now are nightmares. I try not to go to sleep, because when I do, the same dream happens: They wake up, with Eliza's neck ripping apart from the two points where she cut herself, and Matt and Anna follow me, asking me, very inaudibly, why I'm not with them in Hell. I wake up in cold sweats. I've lost seven pounds these past ten days, and not from lack of eating. 
 
 I head out for my morning routine, burying the dead. It's quite the exercise, especially when you have to drag a big, fat lump of skin to it's grave. One of the strangest things about this whole incident, is how none of the bodies have decomposed. Outside of being dead, cold and grey, their bodies are all in pristine condition. Even now, in the summer. 
 
 After that, I'm on a quest to find bullets. I found a gun a few days ago. I figured a bullet to the brain is a lot easier to go out on than slicing your neck. Unfortunately, there are no bullets to be found. They seems to all have been used up. I could drive to the next town. We used any cars we could to get groceries and find cemeteries, but with no way to get gas thanks to the power going out, we had to conserve it. Our first trip to find any other survivors ended up with us having to walk thirty miles back to the city after running out and not finding any other car with even a quarter of a gas left in the tank. For now, I just keep going to the more unsettling parts of town, hoping to find just one bullet to put in the chamber, but I've gotten no such luck. 
 
 There are other ways to die, but I ca n't think of a single one other than a shot to the head which would end my life quicker with minimal suffering. Jumping off a building, impaling myself; all these do not sound pleasant. 
 
 I constantly think of how Eliza died. I felt bad for her, and was feeling selfish at how I could n't muster the strength to kill myself when she slashed herself twice. When we tried to repopulate the earth, she and I were `` partners'', if that's the right term. Over the years, we grew to become sort of boyfriend and girlfriend, except there was no need for labels then. We bonded, but over the course of time, grew apart. I think it was the knowledge we were it. Before that fateful day, I asked why we grew apart, and she told me it was because I was her last. She fell in love with me, and would often dream of one day marrying me. But in the end times, that does n't matter. She would never get the beautiful wedding she wanted, or the kids she would love. She told me, and this hurt the most to hear, that after while, she was empty. The long, meaningful talks we had died off around year four. The sex was no longer meaningful. Any love she had died with her hope. 
 
 I reach the outskirts of town. I've gotten to this point several times, most often with Eliza. I sit down. It's a long trek back home, and I need to conserve my energy. Then it hits me. From here on out, it's just desert. I ca n't find a bullet to end my life, but there is another way. A way I did n't think about until now. It's sweltering hot, and if I just keep walking, I can finally end it. It may hurt a bit. But I have to at least try. 
 
 I get rid of my water and food supplies to resist the temptation of quenching my thirst or getting rid of the rumbling in my stomach. I start walking. I have no set direction to head toward, but I hope it leads me to death. After several hours, I'm tired, yet can still feel the life in me will itself to survive. I have no idea how to suppress that will. Maybe if I walk more, it'll tire itself out. 
 
 I keep going. All of a sudden, memories from the world come back to me. All the fun moments of my life, from my days in high school, to my first real job after college, to my first time with Eliza fill my head. I remember all the stupid things I worried about, like whether or not a girl I liked talking to some other guy on facebook meant they were in a relationship, or my grades or the time I got a scratch on my car and worried my father would have my head; it all meant nothing now. 
 
 And then there she was. Eliza stepped in front of me. She did n't say anything. I did n't know whether this was the afterlife, or the desert had finally got to me, and now I was hallucinating. I try to run to her, but I fall. My eyes close. Please, let his be it. Let this be the moment. I open them again, and there she is again, on the ground with me. I start to fall asleep. 
 
 I never found the bullet to give me a painless death. But there I was, dying, and it was as easy as going to sleep. All the turmoil from the past six years was finally gone.
