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Nelson
My name is Nelson. I believe the only reason I survived was my fortuitous library visit in the middle of the night, and my introverted habit of preferring the lower basement levels--no undergraduates, you see, and only the very rare graduate student at those hours. I had been rechecking an obscure reference for my lecture the next day: Apocalyptic Imagery in Modern Literature. Doubly ironic when one considers how hard I had to fight to keep it on my schedule this year (this dozen-year tenure veteran already served his time as an associate professor, thank you very much, and I'll be goddamned if they think I'll teach ENG 305 again just because they have a staffing shortage.) My bravado aside, there were several weeks when I thought I'd be forced into it by a contract technicality, in which case it could very easily have been an evening of grading (read: skimming) four-page writeups on how Don Quixote truly was a quixotic protagonist, instead of being safe down in my literature-laden bomb shelter.
I've teamed up with several other survivors, and we're heading to Colorado. I'm not sure what we'll find there, but I do know the psyche needs companionship to survive, and it seems more prudent than attempting to find a use for my current skillset in this brave new world.
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