[ WP ] In the wake of a disaster of apocalyptic proportions , the entirety of your home and all of your possessions are destroyed - except for the contents of the medicine chest in your bathroom . Survive .

A bright light, a colossal boom, a rising feeling of dread and fear that weighs my knees and forces me down below the sink. What absurd, obscure instinct is this? Did cavemen in their paleolithic squalor ever strive for cover from pebbles and sharpened twigs? Does a paramecium shield its face from the extending pseudopods of an amoeba? Perhaps one does not need to hide from flint and cytoplasm; perhaps it is just as meaningless to do so as it is against 10,000,000 tons of hard, atomic fury. But Its hard to figure in the face of nuclear armageddon. And now, somehow - by some cruel act of divine comedy - I find myself still in a New York bathroom, still in a puddle of my own piss, and still more alone than the day I was born. The permeability of life, it sticks like a fly on tape, but now I find myself wondering if it is not, in fact, a web. Is it worth it to survive when our ends loom around us like spiders in the dark, waiting to turn our corpses into liquid nothingness? And now I remember the fly, and the caveman, and the paramecium, and was there any other promise made to any of them before? I stand up, open the cabinet, take the damn toothpaste from the bottom shelf, the nail-clippers, the cologne... I open the door. Death grows like a mushroom, but we do n't need sunlight anymore.
