All the ways I’m going to die in the Apocalypse
- The streets are filled with chaos. It’s finally happened: planetary overheating/collapse of the ozone layer/death of all bees. I watch the shrieking crowds below from my apartment’s balcony. My radiation burns itch and I wonder if there’s a cream for that at Shoppers. I nibble at a hangnail.
My beloved cat Noodles sulks at me, having not eaten in two days. I clamp down at the loose piece of skin alongside my nail and pull. My finger starts to bleed.
I drift to the bathroom. I have no band aids and my tube of Polysporin expired in 2015. I return to the balcony, still bleeding. I watch someone stab a pigeon with a shard of broken glass and eat it raw, feathers and all. Noodles laps up my blood as it drips on the concrete. I chew on another hangnail.
Cause of death: cuticle-based sepsis
Days lived post-apocalypse: 3
- I have an emergency kit and inflatable canoe ready to go when the oceans officially rise and consume all cities. I paddle through sewer water, shaking my head at the general lack of preparedness of my hometown. I come across one other person, who offers to trade me some bug spray for my Twizzlers. I refuse, because I saved those Twizzlers for emergencies and for when I’m feeling snacky. Some hours later I realize I have in fact forgotten to pack bug spray, focussed as I was on essential, nutrient dense sustenance.
Twilight comes. The mosquitoes descend like a storm cloud.
Cause of death: Mosquito-borne everything
Days lived post-apocalypse: 7
- After a horrific wildfire that scorches the entire earth and leaves no trace of arable soil, I fall in with a new religion, intent on showing the planet who’s boss. Their charismatic leader Josiah teaches me to punch the wind in a special way he promises the wind will feel.
One morning as we walk across the charred and dusty landscape, I step on a rock and twist my knee. I ask Josiah for help, but he shrugs, sadness in his eyes. I have let the elements beat me and for that I am deemed unfit for their cause and also bad at walking.
Cause of death: exposure, slight indignation
Days lived post-apocalypse: 30
- Nuclear fallout has led to nuclear winter. I have prepared for this by building a bunker under my garage, which includes a warehouse full of every canned goods available at Costco.
But it turns out nuclear winters are pretty long. I’m running out of food. With feeble movements, I put on my radiation protection suit and make my way outside. At first, I see nothing. But once my eyes adjust to the dim light, I notice one or two glowing rabbits. I lure one towards me with canned corn kernels. It has sweet slime-green eyes and its nose twitches as it eats out of my hand. I start to cry.
I begin to feed the rabbits from my dwindling food supply. I am sure Fate will recognize this act of selflessness. I wait for un-irradiated food to appear in my neighbour’s abandoned cupboards.
Cause of death: starvation and being too good for this world.
Days lived post-apocalypse: 120
- Our AI robot overlords decide they want to try the all-meat diet. I am not worried, as this happens during the two weeks I am staying at my luxury apocalypse shelter time-share. Noodles is with me, as are all the Twizzlers I can eat. I watch the live streams with interest. The robots develop hardened arteries.
Six months later the robots are extolling the virtues of apple cider vinegar. I get an alert on my phone. It’s an appointment reminder for my allergy doctor.
I am allergic to cats.
There’s a rattle from above and my shelter’s ventilation system promptly stalls out. Noodles hacks up a hairball. I feel my throat constricting.
Cause of death: dander allergy
Days lived post-apocalypse: 182
- My favourite TikToker reveals the whereabouts of a trillionaires space rocket. I drive non-stop to Florida to make my case for why I should get one of the last tickets off Earth, which is holding the species back anyway.
I make it through a series of skill-testing questions (what’s worse, the MMR vaccine or MSG?) and a fight-to-the-death cage match with Regina from Ohio (RIP), before getting strapped into the cargo hold, a future underling to the space elite. The spaceship takes off—I’ve made it! I’ve survived the apocalypse! I look through a porthole and notice there aren’t any nuclear explosions, catastrophic earthquakes or atmosphere-destroying smog clouds consuming the Earth’s surface just yet. It’s a little disappointing.
A screen lights up. Our saviour explains it will take us 73,000 years to get to his personal planet I <3 X. We will need to subscribe to the OxygenPlus package if we want breathable air in our cryotubes. The trillionaire’s preferred currency is grovelling and/or god-like worship. I unstrap my safety harness and get on my knees.
Cause of death: bad acting, asphyxiation
Days lived post-apocalypse: -5