Chapter two; Merry unbirthday

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Mad Hatter:"Why is a raven like a writing-desk?"�

"Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.

"No, I give it up," Alice replied: "What's the answer?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."� said the Hatter

_Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

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I woke up disoriented. remembering a weird phrase from Alice in Wonderland, a book that Hermione adored and thus subjected both me and Ron to endure it along with her and the animated adaptation. Many times.

Pretty much every time we went to her place.

I remembered, mad hatter talking to Alice about celebrating their unbirthdays, which turned out to be every day except for the actual birthday. I distantly recalled the March hare or whatever it's name was, singing the song ;

A merry unbirthday to you.

I opened my eyes to the blazing sun shining directly in my eyes and winced. I had overslept.

Resigned and still a little sleepy, I loosened the ropes around the sleeping bag and stretched out my stiff legs from their dry position.

With bleary eyes, I gathered up my stuff and snooped down my shoulder, listening with caution. There was no suspicious shuffling or animal growling, they were either gone or still asleep, waiting for me down in the den.

Silently cursing I tested my theory by throwing down my backpack down to the ground, wincing as the thing face planted on my roof and broke down a root or two in its way.

Still no sound. As I trusted my instinct to save my neck, and vaguely prayed that I wasn't climbing down to my death, I slowly started climbing down, noting that my hair was itchy. Damn, there must be something in it.

I gnawed as I resisted the urge to let go of the trunk and ruffle my hair. I was fifty feet up the ground for merlin's sake!

Shuddering in disgust I jumped down the last few feet with bent over knees, experience showed that bent knees had less chance of breaking, and broken legs was the last thing I needed with a feral wild animal coming for revenge of mama bear and try to swallow me whole.

After my usual morning routine, and after making sure that no revenge was about to come today, I cleaned out my hair with my whimsy water supply, wincing in disgust as insects rushed out of a mop I called my hair and ran along my neck and back, it made my skin crawl like crazy.

After that, I decided that, first, I should find a different sleeping place, or tree in my case, and two, I should definitely get rid of the hair, it was longer now and it was getting on my nerves.

It almost reached my chin, still as unruly and as messy as ever. And I had enough of bugs crawling around in my hair all night. That was a big 'No No'.

I didn't have any scissors to do the job and be done with it quickly and frankly, I didn't trust myself enough to do it with a knife, so it had to stay for now.
My stomach rumbled and I winced.

Call it cruelty or exaggeration, but I actually had the guts to think about the meat I hunted yesterday, I actually /wondered/ if there was any left overnight , or did it rot over night? Maybe some strays caught the smell of blood and finished it off?

In any case, I tried to gulp down the strange craving, knowing that I hadn't had any meat, in about eight months now, and I didn't care for making a fire or anything like that to attract attention.

Even though my baby rifle was with me and I wasn't that up against the idea of being eaten.

My stomach growled again in agreement but I overruled my conscious, not only it was morally wrong, it was also foolish.

What would happen if I get sick? Or return back and eat off the animal /I killed/ only to be eaten by another animal in the wild?

For a animal loving person, I felt very sympathetic towards the bear as I should've have felt about my own hunger and cravings. The poor bear that I killed, on my unbirthday, was exactly the evident reason why humans can't have good things. And how fast the table turns.

If the vanishment hadn't happened, I would bet you the rifle, that I would be one of those guys in animal protection rights protests. Seriously I would, in fact if the vanishment hadn't happened, I wouldn't even know what a rifle would look like, much less use it to shoot things with.

Naturally I wouldn't need a rifle in the first place since I had my wand. A wizard had no needs for muggle weapons such as that one. A muggle also didn't need to refill their water supply by ascending a hideous two hours walk to the village, or the five hours one to the river, even if I had ran all the way every time.

I quieted my chaotic thoughts and packed my things for the day, popping an Oreo in my mouth as I swung my beaten up backpack on my shoulder.

I would walk around my area every morning, it was more of a habit than a necessity, but it calmed me down, and there was no point lounging around the den anyway, I needed exercise, to shake off the stiffness in my legs and also a good winding was never unwelcome.

The first few months that I wandered aimlessly around the forest, was by far the hardest for me, I didn't know /anything/ about wildlife, the closest I had came to nature before the vanishment was the blurry camping trip with Hermione's parents to this very forest, like three years ago.

And even then I had everything at my disposal; as kids we weren't entitled to do anything anyway, so I wasn't overly concerned with survival tactics in the wilderness. But that wasn't the point.

I intended to steal a tent from one of the stores a few months back, before I had anywhere stable to sleep in and call my own, but found the idea very disturbing for some reason.

The moral of stealing was wrong for me, even though they wouldn't care anyway, if anything, they would be happy to see me trying my hardest to survive by stealing a tent or living in someone else's house instead of the wild, but I just found myself fainting when ever I even thought about it.

Aside from the food, stealing things___It made it real. Everything, from the disappearance, to my abysmal life, not that it had been such a fantasy up until then, but still, I think I deserved to channel my wildlife style as the last human left on earth.

After my usual jog around the den, I decided that I definitely needed water and a pair of scissors, though still, I wasn't that kin on chopping my hair off with a pair of those. Scissors were perhaps the most evil object on the world to any left handed person on the planet... Which was only me now by the way... But still.

Even after everything, I found it hilarious that I couldn't use everyday life objects as easily as any other person would in my situation, scissors, can opener, you name it... Even my rifle was hard to handle and I just start working with it yesterday.

Hair cut aside, I only had two choices for my water supplement; one was the river that was like five hours away from here and I would lose the whole day if I decided to go that way... The other was joy's green.

Yeah, remember the ironic ghost town that didn't look joyous in the slightest? That was the one.

It had three big markets scattered across the town, all filled to the brim with expiring, or already expired products, but the bottled water? They were the treasure. It never occurred to me to fill up myself on those before I left the town to build my own in the forest, and I can never build up the nerve to do so now, because I felt like I needed the trip every now and then, it made me feel a little more normal per usual.

My stomach rumbled after the first thirty minutes, when I was just near the edge of the woods, the trees softly bleeding into man made roads and civilization. I decided to take a minute off and enjoy the view. Something I didn't do often because it left me hollow and depressed, but the morning was truly_ ironically_ beautiful.

It was unusual. To feel good. So early in the morning, or at all. It felt refreshing and I was about to juice out every minute out of it.
The wind blew and the leaves shuffled madly above my head, the sound of the leaves rustling and the smell of fresh grass and sunshine made me want to smile. Almost though. Almost made me want to smile.

I arrived at the store three hours later with a limp. My trainers were beat, they had holes in them, were torn in several places, and I had the feeling that the edge was actually bitten off, thus small rocks assaulted my skin with rashes and ugly long scratches, hence the limp. I had to pick up a new pair today.

I usually packed light on grocery days, mostly had some Pop tarts (already expired. They don't taste different, in case you were wondering. ) in there with a bottle of water, my flashlight, a kitchen knife and blanket, and of course mama bear.

That's what I decided to call the rifle.

In the honor of mama bear.

The store was exactly as I had left it, untouched, maybe a little bit moldy and smelled of rotten food, swarms of rats and roaches squeaking and cackling over the rotten food. I never understood why they did that, the maggots were obviously the winner, having already digested the goods.

But I was even smarter than them.

Seeing as I wasn't a total dolt, I had packed away all of the water bottles and soda cans in an empty cooler right back in the storage room. Cans and all of the cherished products such as toothbrush, soups, and shampoos were also lined up next to the cooler on a beaten up shelf amongst other things.

I felt like I was playing house as I picked up a basket, shook off the rats and ventured to the back of my storage, still filled up to the rim, full of treats and supplies.
First I picked a new toothbrush since I lost mine yesterday in the chase.

funnily enough you would think post apocalypse Harry wouldn't give a shit about brushing his teeth, but I obsessively cared about my personal hygiene. Aside from the hair, I took a bath or cleaned myself up whenever I could, and obsessively tried to keep my sleeping place free of filth. I don't know why, but somehow it made me feel more humane, that simple task of brushing my teeth calmed me down more down a potion ever could.

Laugh at me all you want, but I picked up a black one in the spite of myself, you see, darker colors are naturally harder to find, specially in the woods or at night, so normally I would pick neon colored ones with flashy designs so I wouldn't have any trouble. To hell with it, if I wanted to mess with myself every night that was on me.

I stuffed cans and enough water to last me another month, I had food back at the den, but I felt better carrying them in my bag.

After I finished shopping, I decided that yes... It's time for a new pair of shoes, I was reluctant, this was one of my favorite pairs, mama bear seemed to think that too, she had chewed it up pretty well.

Before I could get out of the store my eyes caught a dust covered shelf, devoid of any kind of parasites or insects, just to my right, stacked with notebooks. Something drew me in, as I made my way to the section. Why should I need one?

I told myself, that a journal was probably a good idea, in fact, it could be some sort of therapy crap to cope with everything and a half made manual instruction into surviving this hell.

Without wasting another thought I crammed several thick journals into my bag, included some pens and a black pencil and got out of there as soon as I could.
The sun beat me down all the way to the next store, the last one didn't have shoes, and I was desperately needing a pair.

I decided what I should write on that journal, I thought about what I would say. Should I start from the beginning? What was my beginning? Before they all disappeared, or maybe after I figured that they weren't coming back?

That's what I'm writing in it now, I decided to start from yesterday, cause that was a new beginning right? Besides, who would want to read about my disgusting melt down back at Hogwarts? Where I ( supposedly the last person on earth) was reduced into eating alive living beings?

So this is it. My journal that you are reading now, whether you read them after I'm dead, or read them while I'm sitting next to you and squirm in shame ; Fuck you.

There. I got it out of my chest. First off, how the hell are you reading it if I'm dead? As far as I was concerned I was the last of my species. And second, if you're alive and I haven't found you yet; Fuck you again. For tricking me and leaving me alone, even though you might not even know me.

You left me alone to live in the wild, to be reduced into a coward and eat insects so I wouldn't starve. You could've saved me. I don't know how but you could have. We could've been together at least...

I don't even know why I keep on hoping on this shit, maybe I wanted to make myself feel better. It worked, at any rate. I already felt better insulting you.
Two. If you're an alien and you're reading this ; Fuck you too.

I had given this a lot of thought, as I have told you before, if it wasn't a dream, a curse or a spell or God simply pissing on me, then it must be aliens.

Aliens. Human's every excuse for not knowing a solution to a problem. Seen strange lights? Aliens. Your can opener starts spinning without a valid reason? To hell with magnetic fields, it's the motherfucking aliens.

Seen saucers up in the sky? Forget witches and wizards and charms. It's the aliens.

I decided, that seeing as I was also a human, that I should as well blame this on them, what were they going to say about it? Abduct me and then hold me prisoner? At least then I would belong in a civilization.

So if it's you, with your bulged head and one yellow eye in the middle of your face/head, then I hope you got my message, I wrote another one in French too, in case you guys don't speak English. I don't know why, but you might be able to read that. French sounds like a good international language.

Anyways... Aside from all that alien crap, if you're reading this and intend on carrying on the task until you get tired or kill yourself. Then you should know a few things.

I am not a reliable source for information. My mind's a warped up place, I live on by scraps not because I have to, but because I want to. My survival is my number one priority but self destruct goes even higher than that. To hell with everything else. Don't trust me, you will regret it later.

Second to last. If you haven't already seen, or read, yet, one, you're blond, and two, I have a loose mouth. I Didn't before, but I do now. I might not mean what I say, but I sure as hell say it anyway. Maybe I will apologize later, maybe I won't. I don't give a shit.

Last but not least, I am not some righteous hero who would pick up his sword and save the day. This story, even if I can call it that, doesn't have a happy ending, or maybe it does, but I don't know it yet. Things wouldn't end happily ever after, but I can't guarantee if things wouldn't get better either.

Damn, I already felt better writing all this.

Back to the town, I marched up right to the clothing store and tore my filthy ones off my back, all of them except my scarf. I wasn't one to switch clothes often, sure I had all of the things in the world at my disposal, I had an eternity of clothes to wear on without laundry, but I held my clothes above all that and did laundry like a normal person. By the river. With my own shampoo. And then hung them up the branches.

After I picked up my bag back off the ground, I was a changed man, changed into new clothes and my aching feet were in comfortable and warm footwear, I couldn't be more happy. If it wasn't my damn birthday I would have smiled.

I was halfway through the way, when I remembered that I forgot to pick up a pair of scissors at the store. You never knew when one turned out to be designed for left handed people.

I looked at the sun and squinted a bit, I still had time to run pretty quick and grab a few things without getting stuck in the town for the night, though I still had to rebuild my tent for use. Still, I couldn't stay with the hair.

Sorely glad that I had unloaded the rifle, I bumped my way back onto the main square, ran to the sidewalks and tagged along the walls back to my destination. I tried it out with half closed eyes since I hated to be in the town... Village... Whatever... I hated seeing them closed and abandoned.

To shit with night terrors, I couldn't spend the night in a place like this. The very definition of a ghost town.

The sun was close to setting when I got my scissors and turned to run back out of the town. Figures that damn store didn't have shit for left handed people. Out of all of the fifty five scissors, all of them were righties.

I picked a sharp looking one and got on my way, scolding myself for wasting time actually looking through the stack.

Human or no human, I had no intentions of chopping off one side of my head along with my hair. Long, I could live with, uneven? It irritated me.

My rifle bounced on my back and my shoulders were aching with the weight, panting as I maneuvered my way through the car dump. Or as you may know it ; the main street.

I was shocked that none of the vehicles seemed to explode or start some huge wildfire with the amount of gasoline they had in their bunks. Car dump. I wrote it as my second suicide option. It would be a quick death, specially if I was in the car.

As I was fantasizing about my suicide, I gazed over at the darkening sky and blinked.

I saw it then.

A trail of smoke rising from one of the chimneys far right back in town. For one insane moment, I thought that maybe it was the aliens (yeah, laugh at me alright) but then my mind tried to take over.

It must have been some animal, causing a fire. But how? There was no power, no gas. How the hell were they able to start a fire or light up the hearth?

My heart was beating wildly, before I knew it my rifle was in my hands, with shaking hands I loaded mama bear and started to take off to the house. My pupils had dilated behind my round rimmed glasses, I was coated in my own sweat as I was sure that I was either walking to my death or to a new discovery.

Could it be? I thought to myself. Could it be that someone else was there with me? I didn't let myself hope, because I was drowned in suspense. Even if it was a human, how do I know that I trusted them? What would they do to me? Would they kill me? Would they charge me for their stolen merchandise?

The sun was setting and I hated that. I hated that sluggish orange, slowly fading out to pink flashes of light, the setting sun, the end of a day. I couldn't believe I had wasted a whole day in this goddamned town. I was sure it was only supposed to be three hours, not a whole day.

The house was just like the others, slightly different in style and color, but similar to the abandoned ones next to it. I shuddered, like a wild animal, I bared my teeth and strained my ears to hear if there was any movements inside.

Fuck. I swore when I heard a door slam shut in the house. An animal wouldn't slam doors, they didn't have fucking fingers! They had paws! Oh god.

I started to step up the porch, my breath came out as hitches, and tears welled up in my eyes. I kneeled on the porch, the rifle pressed to the door as I knew the other person was on the other side.

I could feel them. Standing there, I could hear their fingers lingering on the doorknob.

Should I shoot? That would put me on an advantage, but what if the person was wondering the same? What if they were only waiting for an excuse to kill me?
I thought that perhaps my pathetic hoarse whimpers gave me away, they would know I'm human. Were they excited? Were they cross?

Another whimper broke out of my mouth and I felt nauseated. Should I talk? Did I even knew how? After all this time?

My finger traced the trigger, I wished I had earplugs to tune out the horrible sound. Was I really doing it? Me? The best effort the human race could come up with? Was I really about to shoot a person on the other side of this door when I had only killed a bear out of self defense?

I'm a monster. I thought, my finger pulling the trigger.

The door blasted open and I was toppled off the stairs with an inhuman screech, the gun fired off again, shooting around as it descended down the stairs with me. My head hit the ground, my world was titled to the left and I could feel dark murky blood matting my hair.

"Potter." it was him.