“Good morning, Majorie!” Duncan called from across the lawn to his neighbor, teeth gleaming in the morning sun, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Majorie smiled at him as she brought the milk in from her doorstep. It was that forced smile. The smile she smiled every morning, at 8am, when Duncan would come out and blithely shout the same thing at her. Every morning. And it was driving her -

‘Ugh, no matter,’ Majorie thought to herself, shaking her head. ‘No point fussing over something you can’t change.’

But it took every ounce of will in her body not to run and rip his toothy, ‘good-morning’ head off. She walked into the kitchen and slammed the milk bottle on the counter, hand on her hip, lips pursed.

“Heyyyy, easy there, tiger!” said Eddie from the dining room table as he read his paper. “We’re not gonna have any milk for breakfast at the rate you’re going!” He flashed her a toothy grin and winked..

“Funny.” she said, without a single trace of a smile.

“Let me guess,” Eddie said, losing the act and returning to his usual self. “Desmond again?”

“Duncan!” she snapped, as she put the kettle on the hob. “His name is Duncan! We’ve lived here for how many years now, and you can’t even remember your own neighbor’s name? He greets you every time you set foot out of the house, for goodness’ sake!”

Eddie smiled to himself and went back to reading the paper. “Argh, I’m just yanking your chain. Lighten up, honey-“

“I will not!” she shouted.

Hot as tears threatened to spill down Marjorie’s face. “How are you ok with this?” she said, palms on the counter, elbows bent. “This... train-wreck of a life we’ve found ourselves trapped in?”

Eddie looked up at her but said nothing. The sound of the clock ticking above the kitchen sink suddenly seemed so loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Look, love,” Eddie said with a sigh as he put his newspaper on the table. “We’ve been over this. We’ve tried - we’ve tried everything, haven’t we?”

He paused as she nodded, a tear trickling down her face. They’d tried everything they could think of for three whole years now.

But no matter how far they ran, the people were all the same. It was as though they’d stepped into a fifties sitcom. Everyone bright smiles, one-liners, and perfectly prepped clothes.

But sitcoms, you can switch off. You can get up from the sofa and go about your life again. Not so, here. Not so, for the past thirty-seven long, arduous months.

“So why do we both remember them differently?” she said in a low tone - a statement, not a question. “Duncan - was different. Pete and Sarah were - different. The whole world was - different!”

Silence again. The only sound, Majorie’s breathless sobs that she fought so far to restrain.

“Why did it not take us too?” she whispered finally.

And as the kettle began to whistle and the sound of the water inside it started to emit busy, bubbling noises, the two of them stared at each other. They stared at each other, knowing they had no answers. And not realizing that they were two of only five humans left in the world.