nuts..., joanna vogel

The last man on earth sat in a room…
There was a knock on the door.

“Damn-it Sheila!” Herb screamed, banging his fist on the mahogany arm of his swivel chair.

“Herb, Soup’s on!” Sheila gave a final smart rap on the door, ignoring the “Do Not Disturb” sign that hung from the knob (the other side of which read “Maid, Clean This Room") and walked back to the kitchen where steam rose from a pot of murky green, split pea soup that rested on the stove.

What a loon. She thought, slicing a small loaf of olive bread. All this “I’m the last man on earth and it’s up to me to continue populating the species. Come on Sheila, come on baby, play along.” Why couldn’t he do something normal like start a bridge club or be a Trekkie? Anything.

But no, always this last man bullshit. Three O’clock in the morning and there he is, poking away. “Come on baby, come on. It’s for the good of the species…”

As if it wasn’t enough that she had been married to him for thirty years and had borne him two children. No. Now at fifty years old she had to start re-populating the goddamn planet.

“Ouch!” Sheila nicked her thumb with the bread knife just as Herb strolled into the kitchen, bare feet sticking to the linoleum tiles. Fly open. He didn’t even say anything. Just stood there with his fly open, leaning against the fake marble countertop to give her the best possible view of his open fly.

A drop of blood fell from Sheila’s thumb onto the un-sliced portion of the bread. It rolled down the floury crust, to create the tiniest pool behind the un-sliced bread, on the wooden cutting board.

“Oh for goodness sakes.” and she ran at him with the knife.