text: It all started with that damn coffee maker. That damn -- she said she *needed* it, didn’t she? I have your coffee maker! Why aren’t you here?! *Probably because she’s dead*, I reminded myself. Dead because of that damn -- *shit!* It all started because... Because... “Don’t you like it?” she asked me, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips and scrunching her small nose. Time slowed as I gazed into her large, dark brown eyes. *I miss....*“We don’t need it.” I said. I watched as that spark in her eyes died. Her smile died where it stood and even the sun seemed to dim in disappointment. How had I missed it back then? How had I been so stupid! “I just thought if you could make your coffee at home....maybe you wouldn’t have to leave so early. Maybe I’d get to see you in the morning.” “Ell, I don’t have time for this,” I frowned. “You stole my credit card and bought a damn coffee maker so we can say “hi” in the morning? Give me a break! You’re thirteen now, grow up. Either figure out how to return the thing or find a way to pay me back -- end of discussion.” “But--!” “End. Of. Discussion.” If I’d known the last time I was going to see my daughter was right then, with her back turned and tears falling due to my idiocracy I....I would have done *something*. I hope. I was such a screwup back then. Still am, but at least now I know it. That’s the worst part; knowing everywhere you failed to see what is so blatantly obvious now. Knowing you could have been better and dealing with the consequences of having not been. What happened after that? Well, it’s all kind of fuzzy, to be honest. The end of the world wasn’t really what anyone could have predicted. I mean, we know it was aliens so there’s that, but how they did it still remains mostly a mystery. Best anyone can tell, it was some sort of intergalactic hack. In retrospect, maybe we should have expected that our reliance on technology would have been an obvious crutch to exploit in the eyes of any alternate intelligence that might inhabit the cosmos. Everyone blamed the Russians for the wave of strange chaos propaganda and brain-washing material that flooded the web. Ironically, they along with China were amongst the few who had managed to establish a fleet of spacecraft sometime near the beginning of the apocalypse, escaping amongst the stars while the rest of us stood pointing fingers of blame at each other. When the Borgians finally made their appearance things on Earth had already reached a boiling point. All would soon be lost to nuclear fallout as warheads of every size streaked jet trails across the open sky. But with a wave of their hand, the Borgians ended the war they started -- rendered every warhead dead on impact. Maybe a thousand people died from the unlucky circumstances of having been in direct line of the physical missiles when they came crashing to the Earth, otherwise, the war was of little note. The real horrors came after -- during the Culling. I was at home when the missiles fell, oblivious to the world beyond me like most; too caught up with work and self to notice how absolutely disconnected from reality we were. When the television suddenly pulled a Decepticon maneuver and tore through the wall, I almost shrugged it off at first. *Almost*. I think it was the unexpected warmth of blood speckling my cheek that really tore through my demented psyche. My daughter’s blood. Back then, it was only a spark at best -- a brief, easily extinguishable flame growing in my heart. But it was more than I thought I’d felt in a long time. I’d take pain over nothing, I suddenly realized. At least pain was *something*. So like a relapsing addict I seized, and that pain grew; that flame grew. As my daughter died I came to life, and I all at once knew myself to be the vampire that I was. I bore no fangs, nor fear of garlic and crosses, but I carry with me this life of undeath -- an inability to live, but now surely an inability to die. I could not face her. Not yet. Not after what I’d done. I destroyed the television -- it wouldn’t be the first time. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last in this damned Hell. Life since then has been a bit of a miserable blur. A lot of fighting for my life, that sort of thing. I can’t count the number of times I thought I should have died. I can’t even count the number of people who *have* died. It’s been too many. Anymore it’s just me and this damn coffee maker. For reasons I can’t quite figure it’s the only bit of Old-Tech I’ve found that hasn’t come alive to try and kill me. I’m convinced it’s just another f-you from the Universe. Another reminder of all my mistakes. Whatever the case, I miss you Ell. I wish I could say it should be you out here, but I wouldn’t wish this fate on my worst enemy. I really do like the coffee maker, though. It hasn’t served much of its intended purpose, but the red suits me I think. I’m....I’ll be home eventually. I promise.