Post Apocalyptic Diaries: Beach Boy

Diversified Writer
2 min readJun 8

How do. I’m still not dead.

I rode away from the city as fast as my legs could pedal and I didn’t stop until the dim night lights of the city were a speck in the distance. There was no sign of pursuit. I dragged the bike and trailer into a stand of trees beside the road and unpacked a sleep mat. I crashed out in the open air scared and physically exhausted but exhilarated too. I slept like a log.

The next day I rode further from the city, past A-roads and motorways clogged with traffic that would never clear. The weeds already claiming some of the cars. One time I heard a raised and angry voice. I picked up the speed and didn’t look back.

By late afternoon I was ready to drop but I’d left behind the larger roads in favour of country lanes. I crested a hill and immediately knew I’d found home for a few days. A grassy knoll overlooking the beach, seemingly untouched by what had become of mankind.

I pitched the tent and made a small camp, putting out a windbreak, chair and small folding table on which I put my camping stove. I was so glad I had brought the little bike trailer along.

Food and water were, of course, limited. But I boiled some water and had the meal of kings — beef and tomato pot noodle. As the sun set I listened to the breakers crash against the shore and relaxed for the first time that day. I quickly finished my pot noodle and drifted into a relaxing sleep. I awoke in darkness to see eyes watching me from the beach. A small fox foraging for food. I dragged myself to my small tent and slept the sleep of the truly exhausted.

Diversified Writer

Darren is a short story and novella writer. He likes tall tales that have humour and heart. He’ll occasionally bring you poetry, finance and health blog posts.