Last one left

I stare at my face in the mirror, perplexed by my complexion. I look like neither my mom nor my dad, with arching eyebrows and brownish hair. My life has always been a routine before this: get up, do stuff, sleep, repeat. I was never much of a dreamer, never wasted my time on wishes. I got used to the bore in everyday life; it became a comfort to me. I never thought it would come to this. 

I still haven't been able to find anyone else left. I just woke up one Monday, and everyone was gone. After screaming till my lungs gave up, I decided to try to find people myself. I've been across 10 states so far these 3 weeks, hardly slept as I drove in my dad's old pick-up truck (the only car that seems to be left). At first, it was heartbreaking. Confusing. Overwhelming. What can I say? But I've learned to grow accustomed to the silent hum of nature. The animals are gone. I'm the last one left.

It won't be long till my fresh food provisions run out. Then, I'll have to live off cans, probably. I've been hoping to find someone else here, but like most things nowadays, it's pretty improbable. I stink like hell. This whole week, I haven't showered or even changed clothes. What's the point? I'm greeted by a sign that reads, "You've arrived in Montana". And from far off, I hear a hoarse scream that brings me to attention. It sounds oddly human. Hope restored, I step on the gas pedal as hard as I can and speed down the deserted road.