A man alone with his thoughts can be a vicious entity. Especially if that man is the last one on Earth. A dark, creaky apartment building was all that was left of the Earth. The food, though plentiful, was filled with insects. The water had long since stopped running through the taps, leaving the only way to quench his thirst as the muddy puddles outside and the acid rain that came once every year. The furniture was ruined and uncomfortable. There was no entertainment, for the tv’s had stopped working and all the books had rotted away.
Why, you may ask, would one live like this? Although he did not wish to live like this, he still had one last reason to live. That reason was his own insanity. Whispering to him about the people that would come to save him; the explorers that had ventured out so long ago, into the stars, would arrive to see this broken Earth and whisk him away from it. He knew, deep down, that those explorers would not come. That the shape the Earth was in now was the reason they had left. But, the false hope his insanity gave to him let him cling to both life, and those maggot-filled pieces of bread.
So, he sat alone. His only friends being the insects and the rain that visited him once a year. His only comfort being the ripped up beds and couches. His only entertainment being the blank television. His only hope being his own insanity. Perhaps the hope his insanity gave him was reason enough to live. Perhaps it was right, just this once, when he heard the knock on the door.
Or perhaps, there was nothing there at all.