I live. Why do I live? The dead were better people than me. The dead had more to give. But it is me who survives. The dead were beautiful and kind. The dead had more intelligence. But it's me who is alive. Stumbling lost after the apocalypse

I am afraid of the life I hold. I don't know why it still burns inside me

The dead are all around me in the spaces they have left. The head that isn't on the pillow. The laughter that isn't echoing round Bee and Kate's bedroom. The dining room is noisy with silence, so busy with their absence that I can't go in there. My home office is the safest place. I can imagine that the world outside is the same, pretend nothing has changed. I find myself sleeping under the desk, wake up to stare at a pair of shoes and a blue plastic pen that has rolled onto the light brown carpet

It's day twenty-five of the apocalypse. My stomach gnaws at me, my mouth rasps.

There is water in the taps but no food in the cupboards or fridge that I can eat. It has been three days since I have eaten anything that could be called a meal. I need to go outside. But I am not alone in this world. There are the undead. I watch them, hiding behind the curtain so they don't see me. They call to each other in meaningless shouts. Carry out strange routines and ceremonies. They have tried to get in the house but I shout and raise a noise and that drives them away

Today I leave the house and confront the post-apocalyptic world. Not because I want to. Only because the emptiness of my stomach burns harder than the emptiness of my soul. I can't even honour the dead by dying

I open the front door. The air and light and noise hits me. The leaves on the ivy flutter in a cool breeze. I stand on the doorstep for some time, no reason to move, but then I walk. I am desolate. I am despair. But my body carries on. One step and then another, the feel of the paving stones under my feet a reminder I'm not some ghost that has floated here from the morgue. I survived the apocalypse. But I don't know why

On the main road there are hordes of undead. One of them tries to stop me. It forms thick words on its tongue and throws a babble of words at me but it's just noise. I push the creature away, put my head down and carry on, mixing in with the other undead, pretending I am one of them

There's shelves of food in the supermarket. My stomach and watering mouth remind me of hunger. My basket is full and I stop for a time. Remembering before. The girls would ride on the front of the trolley. Sarah holding up jars of pasta sauce. The mushroom or the basil? And then the sweet aisle and the clamour of pleaaasseeee from the girls and we would haggle and bargain and laugh as we gave way

"Bee and Kate's daddy? Hello. I'm sorry about what happened to Bee and Kate. We all miss them", a child of the undead is speaking to me and I recoil from the words and stare. Dark eyes. A blue ribbon bunching an unruly frizz of hair. Those eyes. A little like Kate's.

There is a party I remember. A girl with frizzy hair and blue ribbons next to Bee. A balloon filled with sweets popping and the children scampering to gather them up and Bee saying they had to share equally and that was important and I was proud. So proud. I said, that's a brilliant idea and smiled at her. And my smile was reflected by my daughter, and beside me my wife, beside me my other daughter. The girls

I have to put the basket down. Steady myself, hand clutching at a shelf. My legs are not sure if they can keep me up. My face seems all wet

"Mr Holdswith told us and we were all sad. And Bee and Kate's mummy. And that it was a car accident. Are you crying because you are sad?" The girl looks at me. Not the undead. Just a little girl. Her mum comes shushing like a steam train, all red-faced. Apologies. Apologies. So difficult. So difficult. So very sad

"I'll be ok", I croak with my voice unused to speaking, I try a laugh, "my world has ended, but I'll be ok".

Why do I live? The dead were better people than me. The dead had more to give. But it is me who carries their memories. Of them. Of them with me. I smile at the little girl and see it reflected. After the apocalypse, perhaps I can survive after all