“Uhhhhh...” I cracked my eyes open, slowly, one by one. The room was somewhat dark, but still bright enough to make me recoil in pain and shock. I slid my body lazily off the chair and onto the cold, white floor, allowing the cold to awaken me.

After a few moments I sat up, remembering the events of the previous night. I peered onto the hospital bed. Thorn stared at me, and seemed to be smiling. His bandage was stained with dried blood, but he appeared to be much healthier than the previous night. His face looked brighter and far more expressive and he looked genuinely grateful. Thorn pulled himself up a bit, struggling to sit up. While he was fully capable of doing so, it appeared to be uncomfortable, so he reverted back to lying down.

“Good morning,” I began, balancing myself on my cane and pulling myself up, “You look better.”

Thorn let out a soft mew, almost in response to my question. I smiled, accepting it as a valid answer.

“Good. Glad to hear that. Hopefully you’ll keep healing so well. In fact, you may be able to walk again.”

I sat down on the bed next to Thorn, staring into his oceanic eyes.

“Look, I know what it’s like to not be able to walk,” I began, giving no thought to the fact that I was expressing my feelings to a feline, “I could barely walk until the age of five. Before then I couldn’t even move on my own; my leg wouldn’t allow for it. A bone deformity, you see? I curse the damned thing, but perhaps it’s made me stronger in a way. Yes, life’s a lot tougher, but that made me tougher in response. Don’t let it hold yourself back. Benefit from your disability.”

Thorn seemed to purr, as if my words were positively calming. I softly stroked him from his head to his tail, happy to see him feeling so well. After all, this was the closest I had to social interaction in days. Before, I couldn’t fathom the concept of going for even a day without social interaction, and even now, I was certainly not used to it.

It was hard, me being one of the most extroverted people possibly in existence. Most people perceived writers as lonely introverts, people who could only express their thoughts and feelings through their writings, but I was not one of them. For me, my writing gave me fame and publicity, the things that fed my extroversion and brought me closer to fans and friends alike. As much as I hated to admit it, I craved positive attention. I had every positive review I was ever given cut out and stored neatly in a binder, something I kept hidden and read over on those bad, uninspired days, when my mind was cloudy and would not cooperate. Positive attention is what drove me to continue writing day after day, what lead to my eventual fame.

I picked Thorn up, placing him gently in my lap, stroking his soft fur. I felt calm and at peace with the world, a feeling I only got when I held my own son. Quickly I focused back on Thorn, trying to forget about the past. After all, there was nothing I could do about my family now. They were gone, to where I did not know, and that’s the way it was. I may have missed them, but I pretended they didn’t exist, that they were figments of my imagination, no different than my characters in my novels.

After all, what really was the difference? Whether they existed before or not, they no longer did. What was the point of remembering them? There was nothing I could do for them, so weeping and crying would be in vain. It would be like weeping over the death of a character I wrote.

I was not a strong believer in destiny. Hell, I wasn’t a strong believer in anything. I was agnostic, and I never believed much in spiritual concepts. However, I was beginning to believe that, perhaps, destiny was real. How else could everyone disappear? Hell, why was I the only one left? What was so special about me that it would just so happen that I would be the only one left? Was it mere coincidence or... something else? While I was semi-famous, I was not particularly important. I wasn’t even really religious, so if by chance, this was the work of some sort of god, why me? Why not a genius, a revolutionary, a scientist? Why a realistic-fiction novelist? Wouldn’t said god at least choose an able-bodied person to rule their earth? Not someone with a busted leg and an attention complex.

I sighed; so many questions, and absolutely no way of gaining answers. I suppose I would just have to learn to accept my new life, and to just live it how I must. Obviously, my plans and goals would have to change. After all, my whole career revolved around other people; my readers, my fans. I began to wonder, how different would my life be, with no one to please, and no one to dictate to me, my thoughts, and my actions. Being an anarcho-communist, I could never consider myself a fan of the government. I was anti-censorship, and I valued freedom of expression above all. Without a government holding me back, I suppose I finally had the perfect country.

I stroked Thorn from head to tail, enjoying his content purring. He took no notice of the new world, so why should I? Life would be different, yes, but life changes regardless. Now, I thought, I at least had Thorn to care for. I did not mind this. After all, if I didn’t want to, I could just kill him or leave him for dead. But part of me truly valued his companionship.

Now I would have to settle back down, or at least have a constant place to stay. Of course I still had my penthouse apartment, but now, my options were no longer limited. I had always envied a mansion I constantly saw just outside the city. It was humongous, and so intricately designed. I had always longed for it. Now, it was a reality. I would move my possessions over to it, and break in, just like that. Life was different, yes, but it was beautiful. A life no longer dictated by a higher power, by laws, by the standards of conformity. Just a life of my own and I would cherish it deeply.