The Hoffmann Plague

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He wondered if he might see the woman again, or if she was even still alive. If she’d survived this long there was a good chance that she would be, or so he hoped. That had been nearly three weeks ago; she’d been the first living person he’d seen in over two months.

The glare from the morning sun off the sea and the wet sand hurt his eyes, exacerbating his headache and making it difficult to concentrate. He turned around and headed west instead, which made it a little easier. He should have brought his sunglasses with him but he’d forgotten them and kicked himself. There were many things he needed to be more mindful of, and should be doing or planning; he knew that.

It was a beautiful April morning but he didn’t appreciate it as he would have done in happier times. He was hungry; the reason for the headache. His last meal the evening before had been a meagre affair of red lentils cooked with a stock cube, some dried onion flakes and half a tin of carrots. Nothing to write home about, he thought. Not that there’s any home left to write to… Or postal service to deliver it! He smiled grimly to himself.

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