I’m in a small town in Central Kansas called Cepheus. It’s Northwest of
Hays, and Southeast of Great Bend. When I was born, there were only eleven
people here. Now that my father has died, I’m all that’s left. I know that
I’m supposed to contact someone about this. The county sheriff knows our
situation, and is aware that I have no family elsewhere, as far as I’ve ever
been told. I’m fifteen years old, though, and after some careful thought, I
decide that I can take care of myself. What would it accomplish, being
around other people? I only ever cared about my family, and the one other
family we knew, who are all gone too. I bury father in the cemetery, for
which we were already permitted to do so. For practical reasons, though he
was young and in fairly decent health when it happened suddenly, we were
prepared for the eventuality. He even already picked his casket. It was in
the barn waiting for him when his time came. Once I’m done with the
ceremony, I return to our home, make what was his favorite dinner, and go to
bed. The next day, after breakfast, I return to my studies. Just because my
teacher isn’t here anymore, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t continue to get an
education. He gave me the tools I would need to go on without him, including
ultrafast satellite internet. All my friends are on here, I have access to
infinite entertainment, and I see no reason why my lifestyle should change.
He won’t be able to go fishing with me this weekend, but I can still go by
myself. I’ll even take a case of beer to sit between our seats. I never
touch the stuff, but I’m sure I’ll find it comforting. It reminds me, as I’m
making sure a case is still in the fridge, that I’m going to run low on
certain supplies soon. The last remaining residents of Cepheus stayed for a
reason, because we didn’t want to interact with the world anyway. Still, we
couldn’t ever produce everything ourselves, like shaving cream, and
medicine. For that, we waited for the Hercules wagon.
The next wagon won’t arrive for another few days, but I’m not sure if it’ll
ever come now. We receive regular resupplies of certain items, which we use
up monthly, but we send for special requests as well. I failed to do that
yesterday since I was so busy taking care of my father’s final resting
place. We always have special requests, and if we don’t, it usually means
we’re on a long camping trip. That’s okay, I have plenty of produce from our
little garden, homemade dairy from our goat, Mr. Milks, and enough
nonperishables to survive in a doomsday bunker for five years. It’s going to
be the little candies that I’ll miss the most. It’s never on our list, but
the driver always comes with them anyway, free of charge. I shrug off the
worrying about the wagon, and get back to my book, A Tale of Two Cities for
my classics assignment. In fact, it’s the last assignment my father gave me,
which means I’ll have to begin testing myself once I complete the report. I
can always call the driver later if I do decide I want him to come after
all. When I’m finished with the chapter, I head for the kitchen to treat
myself to a bowl of Mr. Milks’ ice cream. It’s not the easiest thing to
make, so we don’t do it often. It makes more sense to stick to the milk,
cheese, and butter. Like an idiot, I drop the bowl on the floor, and worse,
I don’t notice that one piece of porcelain slid far from the spill. I slip
on it, and bash my head against the corner of the counter. Unable to move, I
watch the blood from my head wound mix with the dessert, and now I realize
why father told me to leave town when he was gone, and join society. The
driver doesn’t find my body for four days.
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