( WP ) The last man on Earth gets a knock on the door , and it 's Christmas carolers

The man rose from slumber long before dawn, wiping the sleep from his eyes and the sweat that had collected on his brow. He believed he had a fever. The thought both terrified and calmed him. Would his death be slow? If it were, would it be worth it? Or should he take care of himself? 
 
 There would be no reason. He had nothing to live for. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to but his wife. 
 
 He is the last man on earth. The only male survivor of a world war turned into mass genocide of nations by nations. The world crumbled at his feet, and all he could do was watch. 
 
 The man had only slept for a couple hours that night. He cursed himself as he walked into the kitchen of the house, grabbing the last can of peaches and devouring them. His throat was parched, his ankle he had broken during the war bent grotesquely. The man's vision was blurred without a new perscription and he had lost all his hair. He thanked God everyday that his wife was still alive. She was so quiet, but she was resourceful, thoughtful, and still incredibly beautiful. Although she was a bit traumatized, she held up well for her husband. He loved her, and she loved him. 
 
 He sat down in the study, putting his legs on the desk and drinking the peach juice from the can. He began to doze off, as it was only 11 at night. His dreams had kept him awake once again. Maybe this time would be different. 
 
 As the man was finally drifting, there was a noise. A booming knock at the door, as if it was being kicked. The man's eyes fluttered for a second, but he figured it was just some kind of animal trying to get in. 
 
 Then it was heard again. Louder, sharper. His eyes finally opened completely. He sat completely still, trying to hear any other sounds aside from the knocking. 
 
 There was scuffling. It sounded like there were more than one. The man grabbed his pistol from the desk drawer. It was n't the first time he wasted bullets on dumb animals, and it would n't be the last. 
 
 He walked to the front hall and unlocked the door. Bracing himself, he opened it just a tiny bit. 
 
 People. Men and women, intact and tidy. They were wearing Christmas sweaters, turtlenecks, and vests. So many vests. 
 
 Someone in the front took out an instrument from their pocket. They struck their knee with it, then held it to their ear. The leader hummed some notes, and certain people hummed certain notes back in response. 
 
 `` And-a-one and-a-two!'' 
 
'Hark the herald angels sing 
 Glory to the newborn king 
 Peace on earth and mercy --' 
 
 The man could n't take it. Not for one second. He did n't care if they were the first people he saw in two years. No, he did n't even see them as people. They were mirages, symbols of the shit storm that had brought the human race to its knees. He put the pistol to the directors head, with his other arm wrapped around his neck. 
 
 `` What the fuck do you want?'' he breathed, voice raspy from lack of fluids. `` Do you think this is a goddamn game?'' 
 
 `` We just wanted to spread Christmas cheer,'' the director wheezed. `` Since its been so dreary, we thought this could make some people happy.'' 
 
 `` There are n't any other people, you son of a bitch. It's just me and my wife, and you're just a figment of my imagination. We're alone in this world and that's how its going to stay.'' 
 
 The other carolers began to scream as the man began to pull the trigger. 
 
 `` Stop!'' said his wife, running out of the house. She stepped in front of the man. He looked down at her face; it was like all the light left in the world was in her blue eyes. He had n't seen that in years. The, she began to sing. 
 
'Silent night, holy night 
 All is calm, all is bright' 
 
 The carolers joined arm in arm, and soon the man was joined with them. He felt a jolt of energy to hold another human being again. It had been so long, so painful. He even began to sing. 
 
 At the end of the song, his wife smiled. `` Now was n't that beautiful? We all just need to learn to love each other, regardless of circumstance.'' 
 
 All the carolers nodded, and the wife look at the man with a twinkle in her eye. He smiled back, his first time smiling in years. She took the gun from his hand and held his large hand in her own small one. 
 
 `` Let's sing my favorite, the Twelve Days of Christmas!'' 
 
 They all began to sing, and as they finally got to twelve, his wife began to shoot. 
 
 `` Twelve drummers drumming'' Shot in the head. 
 
 `` Eleven pipers piping'' Shot in the head. 
 
 She continued, laughing as she became soaked in blood. 
 
 `` 3 French hens'' the final shot, and she was alone with the man. 
 
 `` What's the next line?'' she asked, as if she were asking for directions to the library. 
 
 `` 2 turtle doves,'' the man whispered. He closed his eyes. This was how he was meant to die. This was it. He could finally end it all. His wife smiled at him, blue eyes glowing as her lashes dripped with blood. 
 
 She put the gun to her own temple, singing `` And a partridge in a pear tree.''
