Some people know what moderation is and I don’t think you’re one of them.

Timeline/World: Until Tomorrow – New York City
Current Date: October 24, 2023

Character: Emmanuel Stanford
Race: Human
Age: 29
Current residence: New York City Ruins, New York
 

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I don’t know that I can claim to be surprised that alcohol has made a comeback. I have no idea when it did, or how long it has been back, but what I do know is that I’ve been hearing more people talking about it. I know that it was never prohibited, but I also know—at least, I assume—that there never was any alcohol in the bunker, and somehow, I can’t imagine that any honestly survived.

I do know, from some old research that I read from crap in my parents’ things, that a higher percentage of alcohol meant that their freezing point was much lower, but considering how bitterly cold the world went out there; I do believe that any booze that might have been in homes got the freezing treatment when we went white.

Not that fermenting things is hard, I once forgot that I had grape juice in my room and, yeah, when I found it again, it had fermented and if I hadn’t been such a scaredy cat where my health is concerned, I might have tried it. So, I suppose that I can’t claim to be surprised that people are making their own booze now.

In a way, I think that what I want to believe is that most people will know what moderation means. Most people. Some others will always do what they like, as far as these things are concerned, and there will be no helping that. The vast majority of the population might have perished with the snow—as far as we’ve been told and according to the rare remaining satellite—but it’s clear that certain personality traits are still present in what is left of said population.

Have I seen people stumbling around drunk yet? Nope. I’m grateful for that. I don’t want to see it either; I’m pretty sure I might get to see it at some point but until then, I’ll just do what I usually do and that’s just live my life day by day and be ever grateful that I’ve lived this long. I know I wouldn’t have made it this far without Romeo, but I try not to remind him of that much too often, his ego’s big enough as it is. I need him to still fit in through the doorways. As it so happens, I do love him just the way he is, ego and grumpy protectiveness included. I wouldn’t change him for the world.

That’s one of those things I’ve never understood in couples. Not that I ever really spoke to many before he stepped into my life, but I’ve heard it often enough when one of the two in the relationship is talking about ‘fixing’ their partners, or ‘changing’ them because they know they can do it, and once they do that, their partner will be perfect just the way they are.

What’s the point of that? If you have to change the person you’re seeing, then you’re not in love with them as they are, and you can’t accept them that way. I’m not saying that to people who were in relationships with violent or, you know, drunk people. I’m more thinking about people who seemed to believe that their partners had little flaws that needed to be changed.

Though yeah, I’ve heard of people dating drunk or violent people who thought they would be able to change that behaviour in others. It’s something that I can’t wrap my mind around. I don’t know that I’d be able to date someone who had a tendency towards either of these things. I’d been too terrified out of my wits on the one front, and I’d been wary of what their drunken behaviour would bring forth, on the other front.

Then again, my dating history is very short and there’s never been anyone in my life other than Romeo, so I guess I’m not the best person to really try to figure these things out. I know that I’ve mentioned my thoughts to Romeo before, mostly because it was what was on my mind and, well it’s just one of these things. That’s like those out there who were with people who were more focused on their work than anything else. At least before the snow.

My parents were certainly that way; I saw so little of them that you’d think I might not have had parents. You’d have been almost right if their pharmaceutical products hadn’t been so well known. Not that any of it matters anyway. I never wanted to follow in their footsteps and I’m pretty sure I would have run away from that life if the snow hadn’t done the job of saving me from that, in the end.

Final Word Count: 789

I come back and it’s absolute chaos in here. You better hope that’s not glitter.

 
Timeline/World: Until Tomorrow – New York City
Characters: Emmanuel Stanford
Race: Human
Age: 27
Current residence: New York City Ruins, New York
Final Word Count: 807 words
 

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It took another year. Another year of this crazy woman—can you tell that I don’t want anything to do with her from the fact that yes, I know her name, but I completely refuse to use it, even after years—trying to bring me books, treats, and just generally looking like she’d like me naked on her bed despite the fact that I clearly never even gave her the time of day, before she finally stopped.

Though, I think that saying it stopped would be going a bit far. I think it’s closer to the fact that I haven’t seen her in almost two months. That is closer to the truth and, at first, I was confused—not because I missed her. At first, I was confused because, you know, endless weeks of her trying to give me something I didn’t want and then suddenly, nothing.

I don’t know how Rome has managed to not fling her into an old lava tube yet. I mean, I’ve asked him to not cause a scene, so far, she hadn’t really been causing any harm. It was just in the way she looked at me that left me unsettled but she barely spoke to me; only tried to somehow win me over for so long that it feels as though the whole thing had turned into an obsession for her.

If I think back, I can sort of pinpoint when it all stopped. We stepped out of the apartment one morning, and there were paper confetti—it looked like that, anyway, if so, I have no idea where it might have come from—on our door step. My first thought was that she’d finally come into the building and found our door. That almost sent me running because it was the one thing that we’d managed to keep from her. She’d never once—to our knowledge—stepped into the building proper, she had no way of knowing which door was ours and while I suppose she could have seen me on the balcony, I’m rarely out there and we’ve set huge, protective leaves all around the bars of it for some privacy.

When nothing came of that day and the following, I tried to let myself relax and, through relaxing, my mind went back
to what had looked like confetti and those brought me back to my earlier days at the school, not very long before Rome came into my life.

I’d always done all I could to stay off of the radar of my past roommates while at school. I was fine with just keeping my side of the room spotless and making it seem as though I didn’t even live there.

On that particular day, though, thinking back about it makes me smile a little, I can’t help it. I’d been working on an art project and, yeah, I’d needed confetti of sorts. I had a small handheld hole puncher and a good few blank sheets of paper and I’d been punching holes out of them and gathering my little confetti snowflakes for a while.

During that time, I had made a few pit stops to the bathroom—that might tell you how long I’d been at it, my hand was honestly cramped up. I didn’t have a multi-punch and I’d needed my so-called confetti to be white.

While making the mini-trek to the bathroom and back, yes, I’d ended up scattering a few pieces of said confetti on the carpet and as it was darker, it showed somewhat clearly if you even looked a little. Now, I was so lost in my project that I didn’t notice. I would have picked them up once I’d been done.

My roommate at the time, however, came in, saw the small, not-even handful of the white specks on the floor and got pissed. Screamed that the whole room was absolute chaos and if what he was seeing was glitter—uh, no, no it wasn’t—I’d be sorry. It took me a minute to realize what the hell he was talking about. I think that if I hadn’t been scared of the guy, I would have facepalmed.

Instead, meek little old me scrambled to pick up the maybe-dozen of white specks from the carpet, explaining ever so softly that they were paper bits and that there was nothing else, elsewhere, and went back to my project.

It’s been so long at this point, but I still remember how grateful I was that he just hawk-watched me until I’d picked them all up and then left me alone. He was an arse about keeping the room clean. He left my project alone. A huge black sheet of cardboard onto which I’d been painstakingly gluing each dot around my snow-stormed subject. I’d been pretty pleased with that project, in the long run.

If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were trying to flirt by giving me books.

 
Timeline/World: Until Tomorrow – New York City
Characters: Emmanuel Stanford
Race: Human
Age: 26
Final Word Count: 718 words
 

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Most people would not remember the event, I mean, it happened almost two years ago but, trust me, I remember. Rome remembers too, I spent nearly a full week jumping at every little noise and I’m sure I’ve exhausted him in ways he didn’t expect to be exhausted. I was exhausted too by the end of it and it took Rome talking to my lead to get me the week off because I would have been a worse wreck at the end of it.

Now, you would think that the woman who left me in this twitchy mess would have left me alone after the fact. I mean, her friend had walked her away, whispering whatever it was she was whispering and by the following week, things seemed to be mostly normal. She didn’t look at me as though I was a slab of meat she could and totally would devour.

She left me alone for the most part. She didn’t talk to me though we still were, generally speaking, on the same team. I was more focused on herb gathering, planting and caring and she got saddled more with the berry picking part of things. That suited me well.

All in all, I shouldn’t have had any reason to complain, right? Wrong.

About six months ago, she’s started bringing books to gathering and actually giving them to me. Now, the few people who do know me a little know that I’m pretty much an avid reader—or, well, I was. Any chance I can get to find a book, I will. I’ll cherish that thing to no end and just happily read it as often as I can manage until I find another book or I switch to another one.

Books aren’t all that commonplace anymore, though somehow they did find a sort of library on the outskirts and they’ve been bringing back books but anyway. For the past six months, every few weeks, give or take, she’s been giving me books and, with these books, she’s been giving me coy looks as she gives them to me. I feel like she’s trying to flirt with me by giving me books, it’s unsettling. I took that first one more than a little happily. I didn’t really know better. It was a book I had loved as a kid and I hadn’t been able to read it in years, so it felt good to be able to read it again.

The following few books were taken with less enthusiasm and I’ve had to tell her no to the last three or four, no matter how much I’ve wanted them. I’ve asked Rome not to cause a scene, clearly, she hasn’t changed her mind about having me on her plate but she’s changed the way she’s going about it. That this has taken two years to get here is baffling to me, I just wish none of it was happening.

I don’t know how to get across to her that I have absolutely no interest in her. For one thing, she’s about my height and that’s just weird and for another, well, I have Rome in my life and I don’t need anyone else. We’ve been together for so long at this point that I don’t think I can even imagine my life without him. I have a hard time remembering what my life was before, anyway.

I haven’t seen her friend around in a long enough time, though, that’s one of the things that worry me a bit. That friend of hers seemed to be able to at least rein her in and keep her focused on the important things—that being, you know, leaving me alone, not flirting with me and realizing that I’m already in a very long-term relationship that’s not going to bite the dust any time soon.

Oh, yeah. You know. Also, the fact that I’m so gay that I probably spew rainbows when I’m sick—I don’t, but the statement remains.

I’ve even brought back all of the books she’d brought to me. I gave them to her and told her that I couldn’t keep them. That seemed to confuse her and all. She didn’t look very angry but she did look pretty determined, so I don’t know what’s going to happen.

We could work together.

 
Timeline/World: New York City – Surviving Earth
Characters: Emmanuel Stanford
Race: Human
Age: 25
Final Word Count: 675 words
 

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“Uh… no.”

That’s how the world ended.

The end. RIP, here lies Emmanuel.

Well, no, I’m kidding but by the look on her face, I was pretty sure that was gonna be the end of me. I don’t think Rome would have appreciated his boyfriend being shishkabob’ed by some crazy woman. I’m just grateful that her friend was there to save the day because I think she was going to maul me. Let me rewind a moment and put the whole short story into a sort of perspective before I go back home and crawl under the covers and forget today ever happened.

Here goes.

Earlier that morning, we’d been told that we were getting new people. Something I was more than fine with, we always need more gatherers, we can never have too many of them. Well, we can. But we’re not at that point yet because some of us gather berries, the others herbs, and so on, really. There’s plenty to be gathered and some of the gatherers help the hunters and just, yeah. Plenty to do.

So I’m there, I’m minding my own business, I’m waiting to be told about the area we’ll be off to today because I’m a runt and I can’t do much of the heavy lifting and I still don’t like being around too many people but I’d like to think I manage well enough. There comes this pair of women, one about my height and a little slimmer than me, the other somewhat taller and the shorter one comes my way, looks me up and down like I’m some juicy meat on a slab and tells me what we could work well together.

Now, I don’t like confrontations. You can ask Rome, I just don’t. I’m more the cower-and-hide away type. At least, I was until he settled more permanently in my life but that was sorta hard not to do with the snow that fell all over the earth and us surviving together. I wonder if we’d be together otherwise. Not something I think about much.

Anyway.

As I said, I’m not the confrontation type but just the way she’d looked at me had all the alarm bells going so I stared at her for a moment, tried not to shift my weight because Rome says that’s a dead giveaway that I’m about to either run off or just cow before someone and I shook my head. I said that thing I mentioned just minutes earlier and it was very eloquent.

Fast forward barely a minute later, her eyes are bugging out, she looks ready to jump down my throat and tear me a new one but the woman she came with laughs as though I’ve said the most amusing thing in the world, curls her arms about the shorter one and leads her away, murmuring whatever it was she was murmuring into that ear. I didn’t want to hear it so let’s just not even think about it, it’s pointless.

I watched them walk away, still holding my ground. That was a miracle in itself. I waited and waited and waited some more.

When my team leader finally came around—probably not even five minutes later, I told her I wasn’t feeling so great and that I was going to sit this one out. I’d come with the team the following day, which had been my one of three weekend days to make sure I ‘did my hours’. She let me go.

So here I am, trying not to shake out of my skin, making my way back to the apartment.

At the door, I pause, I stare at the door and a bark of laughter escapes me. I think it’s probably half-crazed. I try to shake it off. I step into the building, up the stairs into our apartment and I move straight into the bathroom. I draw myself a lukewarm bath because the air is still humid as fuck and I’m going to stay in there until I stop shaking.

We talk about these things.

Timeline/World: New York City – Surviving Earth
Characters: Emmanuel Stanford
Race: Human
Age: 23
Final Word Count: 531 words

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I hate gossip. I have no words for how much I hate gossip, especially now in this new sort of jungle-like survival world. People need to talk, they need to be open about things or else we’re all going to dissolve right back to what we were before, what they were before.

Up until Romeo came into my life, I was the keep to myself type. I had to. I was so slight and a wallflower that I obviously was not wallflowery enough. I was picked on constantly, made to do unsavoury things and just, if I could change it, I think I would but it would mean not meeting him and that’s bad and—well that’s not really the point of things just now. The point is, people gossip, people talk behind other people’s back and people, in general, suck.

That’s my view on things.

So you can imagine that when someone from the small team I’m part of, gatherers and whatnot, came to me to let me know I was being cheated on. I kindly told them to leave before Rome got home. What else was I supposed to do? I don’t have a fighting bone in my body, not in that way and I knew better. After years together, a little more than six at this point—though not so much together as we met back in March, six years ago—I knew him, I understood him.

If it’d been Rome, I’m sure it’d have been closer to the point of being told to fuck off or get his face bashed in or something. I wouldn’t even have argued with his method and let him get the deed done. I just wasn’t feeling it just then and I’d been under the weather for a couple of days. All I wanted was rest, not rumours that the one person I was sharing my life with was cheating on me when I knew it wasn’t the case. There was no need to look elsewhere; we both knew we were it for one another.

That and, you know, we talk. I learned to talk about what was on my mind with him. He’s the one who managed to pull me out of my shell, to get me to stop flinching at every little noise that was out of the ordinary. I wasn’t exactly well liked at school; I was treated pretty poorly though I can admit that at least it never really turned to physical things, not in the worse sense of things. Sure, I got beaten up a few times but nothing that didn’t heal after a few days.

Romeo though, he changed my life. I wasn’t ready for my life to be changed, so used to the shit I’d had to deal with all of my life but he changed my life. I’m glad he did. So anyone who comes into this little house we call our home to try and bullshit me into believing I’m being cheated on, can go back to their hole and rot, I know it’s not happening, it wouldn’t. There’s no reason for that kind of behaviour and that’s that. End of the story.