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The last man on Earth sat alone in a room.
There was a knock at the door.
He looked towards that direction, a look of dismay fluttered across his face. He looked down at his pale and dry hands, questioning if he should answer the door. He moved his thumbs in circles as he went through the possibilities of who is could be.
Finally he settled on a “no”, and sat back in his old arm chair. His facial muscles relaxed, until his face was expressionless. He hoped there was still tea in the cupboard.
There was another knock at the door.
His eyes opened as a rush of thoughts flowed through his mind. He turned his head back towards the direction of the door. It was just down the hall with that loose board three steps down, take a left, and there it was.
It had glass panes in it, and the middle-left one needed to be fixed. He should fix it, now that he had the time. Yes, then he could also check on who was knocking. A small smile settled on the man’s lips as he looked away and scooted up the chair to get up and head towards the door.
Another knock sounded.
He looked back towards the door, the smile disappearing on his lips like it was never there, and stopped. He hesitated, but then continued to get up. Maybe he could find some tea, then check the door while the water boiled, he thought. Yes, of course, multitasking couldn’t hurt.
He started to walk towards the kitchen, his steps echoing in the silence that was only now noticeable. Opening the cupboard, he found some of the tea his wife had gotten him days before that he hadn’t gotten around to drinking.
Picking up the tin, there was a knock at the door.
The noise startling him, for he almost forgot about the problem he had, the knock on the door. Ducking his head out of the doorway of the kitchen, he looked down the hallway with the loose board three steps down, and craned his neck in hopes to catch a glimpse of the door.
He looked back at his tea tin with a look and matching feeling of yearning, and placed the tin onto the counter. He stepped out of the kitchen, and started to walk down the hallway. Stepping directly on the loose board he barely noticed the whine it released. He glanced at the photos of his wife and kids on the green painted walls, and continued towards the door. He wished his wife was here.
He turned left and there was a knock on the door, stopping him mid-step. He stared at the door, an anger boiling in him, and rising until he felt it heating up his ears. He rushed to the door and threw it open.
He wished he made that tea.