text: "This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper." - T.S. Eliot ~~~~ Polski wandered about the ghostly remnants of what he once called home. Hollowed shells of buildings full of long-decayed corpses. The way everything fell was simple: a highly infectious neurodegenerative prion disease resulting in fatal insomnia of all those infected. Nearly everyone got infected, save for Polski. Polski, the surprisingly resourceful vegan misanthrope who subsisted on foraging. Polski, the sketchy hermit who lived in the forest bordering the outskirts of the town. Polski, the one who thrived on farming in self-imposed isolationism, save for a supply run every two years. A pitifully empty supply run this year, where it seemed nothing was open anymore, without anyone in sight. Polski found an odd sense of enjoyment as he wandered through the city of long-decayed souls. Part of him wanted to finally enjoy a seat in a cafe, finally emptied of all annoyances (including the baristas). With a cautious look at his surroundings, Polski pulled an axe from his bag and smashed the glass door of a high-end cafe. The tempered glass fell in a shower of shiny bits as Polski stepped into the quiet shop, the alarms having been dead for months with the failure of the power grid. Polski wondered what the appeal was, sitting behind the glass window. Was it a sense of supremacy from the plebians outside which made it such an experience? Was he supposed to feel some sort of ambiance from the long-dead succulents decorating the shop? Was it the smell of long-stale coffee which was supposed to fill his soul with a sense of satisfaction? Polski stared out the glass window longingly before going to the back room to see if there was anything worth taking. As he went back, he heard an odd sound, unlike any he had heard so far. Was it...running? He could swear he heard cautious footsteps crunching over the bits of tempered glass. Polski fearfully held his axe at the ready as a trenchcoated figure kicked open the door, propping a bag of coffee beans to hold it open to the light of day. In a dramatic flair, the trenchcoat dropped as Polski stared with a combination of fear, shock, and confusion. Standing in front of him, as nude as a sheared sheep, was the bustiest aesthetically pleasing woman Polski had ever seen in his life wearing nothing but a pair of worn sneakers. "Finally, we can restart humanity," she said with a tone of lust and confidence before throwing aside the hand axe from the shocked hermit, pushing him against a bag of coffee beans. The young woman forced a kiss on Polski, her fingers grazing over his crotch. In an instant, Polski pushed her off. "Hold on, what makes you think I'd want to restart humanity? And, what makes you think I'd want to bang some floozie who I don't even know the name of?" Polski was annoyed. "Fine, I'm Lyra. You know my name now, so can we just do it now?" Polski was aghast at the eagerness with which the woman wanted to have intercourse. "No, no we're not going to just *do it* now." "And why's that?" With an annoyed sigh, Polski pushed her off, put his axe in his bag, and answered, "Because, Lyra, I'm asexual and I hate humanity. Please don't come after me because I really don't want to *axe* you to stay away again," he said seriously before chuckling at his terrible pun. Lyra could do nothing but whimper and cry as the misanthropic hermit left, grabbing a bag of coffee beans before stepping out of the empty shop. (Source: Me.