I’m an idiot. A lucky idiot, sure, but an idiot nonetheless. I should have died a dozen times by now - eaten, starved or maybe just by stupidity. But here I am still breathing.

I'm the kind of guy who excels at sports and sucks at school—if you catch my drift. If life was a high school movie, I’d be cast as the dumb jock or the generic bully. Not that I’ve ever bullied anyone, mind you. But if you saw me on the street, you’d probably assume I take lunch money for a living or that I spent my formative years stuffing nerds into lockers.

I’m big, broad-shouldered, and have the kind of resting face that makes people cross the street. But I swear, I’m a nice guy. Probably.

My general vibe says aggressive gym bro, but honestly, I’m just a guy trying to get through life with minimal thinking. I like simple things—food, music, not getting eaten by zombies. That last one is a recent addition.

Anyway, that’s me in a nutshell. And now that the world has gone to shit, and since I have no idea how long my luck will hold, I might as well document the madness while I can. Some people had a plan. Me? I have dumb luck and a questionable humour.

Welcome to my life.

A Day in the Life of a Questionable Survivor

Day 27 of the Apocalypse

Weather: Meh

Mood: Cynical but breathing

Daily Mission: Food hunt

Main Mission: Don’t die

Morning

I wake up to the sound of something groaning outside. Could be a zombie. Could be a raccoon stuck in a trash can. At this point, the two sound pretty similar.

The sun is shining through my window. My not dead yet Yucca, sitting on the window sill, is photosynthesizing in overdrive because I can’t water it. The little water I find, I keep for myself.

I groan back at the monster outside out of spite before sitting up in my sleeping bag. My armour clinks as I move, reminding me that yes, I did indeed fall asleep wearing a full suit of medieval plate mail. Again. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, but so is getting bitten by a Z, so I’ll take my chances with the metal cocoon.

Breakfast is half a granola bar and some lukewarm water from a plastic bottle I found a few days ago. Breakfast of champions. I chew slowly, staring at the ceiling of my flat. Yes, I still live in my own flat, all through Armageddon. It’s not much, but it’s home, familiar. At least until I find somewhere better or get chased out by the undead.

After a quick stretch (or as much as I can stretch in full armour), I strap on my helmet, grab the “Stabby Stabber” - a big ol’ stick with the biggest, sharpest and meanest looking knife I could find taped and screwed to the end-, and prepare for another day of surviving through sheer dumb luck.

Mid-Morning: The Great Pedal Quest

Ah yes, another thrilling instalment of Medieval Knight Sir Vives-by-Luck… I ride a bike! A red and green Koga-Miyata I dubbed Pebbles. It’s quick and easy to repair, quite light and relatively quiet. Compared to a car… I mean yeah, the armour … but at least I don’t need gas!

I take my bike downstairs with me, put my makeshift barricades back into place, and adjust the cushion on my saddle. Plate mail does not mix well with cycling ergonomics. My thighs hate me.

The streets are mostly quiet this morning, aside from the usual background noise of distant groaning and the occasional car alarm. I pop in my earbuds and hit play on my apocalypse playlist— on the menu today: drum and bass with a pinch of smooth jazz. Nothing quite like the surreal contrast of dodging zombies while a saxophone croons in the background.

My route today takes me toward a grocery store I haven’t looted yet. “Yet” being the key word. Most places are already picked clean, but you’d be surprised what people overlook. Last week, I found an entire stash of protein bars hidden behind some expired cat food. It was like winning the post-apocalyptic lottery.

Pedalling in full armour is still ridiculous, by the way. My legs are burning five minutes in, and I swear I can hear my knees filing a formal complaint. I feel like a hard-boiled egg, in a hard shell. But hey, I don't know another way to stay alive…yet, so shut up legs and let's find sustenance for this ungodly knight.

Noon: The Grocery Store Gamble

I arrive, wet and clanking at the store, which looks like every other store these days—ransacked, broken glass everywhere, and a faint smell of rotting produce. I park my bike outside like some knightly idiot, leaving his noble steed at the gates of a ruined castle. What?! Zs can't ride bikes!

Inside, the shelves are mostly bare, but I start my usual scavenging routine. I find:

A half-empty bottle of ketchup (questionable)

A single can of beans (boomshakalaka)

A pack of instant ramen (useless without water)

A can of dog food (filed under: last resort)

Not the worst haul. I stuff everything into my backpack and prepare to leave when I hear something. A shuffle. A footstep.

I freeze. Zombies aren’t known for their stealth, which means it might not be a zombie. I’ve watched enough movies to know that the zombies are predictable, and people aren’t. I grip The Stabby Stabber tightly and slowly peek around the corner.

It’s a woman!

Alive!

She’s wearing a hoodie, her graying hair tied back in a messy bun, a makeshift weapon clutched in one hand. She looks at me, eyes wide, and I realize how absolutely insane I must look—fully armoured, holding a glorified stick with a knife strapped to it.

“Uh,” she says, blinking. “What the fuck?! Are you wearing… a suit of armour?”

“Yeah.” I adjust my helmet. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

She tilts her head. “Is it?”

I shrug. The armour clinks. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

Her lips twitch, like she might be fighting a smile.

“I’m Josie,” she finally says.

“Sir Vives-by-Luck,” I reply, giving a dramatic bow because if you’re going to wear armour, you might as well commit to the bit.

She snorts. “Oh god, you actually named yourself?”

“Hey Listen,” I say defending my pride, “the apocalypse doesn’t come with a handbook. I’m making it up as I go.”

She considers this before shrugging. “Fair enough.”

We stand a moment there looking at each other in silence, sizing the other one up. She’s thinking she has no chance against me, but she doesn’t strike me as a backstabber. After a while, I sort of relax my stance and about to say something, but a zombie appears around the corner and starts limping fast towards Josie. She hears it before I do, stiffens and turns around. That's when I see it, … him?… whatever. He's about 1.80 meters tall, very fat, with only one arm left, and his left knee looks like he wants to secretly tell the right knee something in the ear. He's in a dark suit but has no shoes on, short hair and a golden chain around his fat, almost non-existing neck. He reminded me of a former boss I had and hated.

I let these old feelings of hate and rage fill me up and feed my courage. The instant I see him I grip my Lance with both hands and start sprinting towards him. You'd be surprised how fast you can be in armour. I aim for the head - With Zs always the head, the rest does NOT work. When closing in, the knife misses the brain and instead goes into his mouth and out the cheek. My speed and weight knocks the blobby undead to the floor. I land on top of him but the purifying ribcage gives way under the blow and my weight, and implodes. This is the grossest shit I have ever witnessed. Liquid Zombie is oozing into my metallic cocoon. The Z, still “alive” (remember, only the head works) is thrashing and chattering, trying to bite me. The stabby stabber lies inches from my hand. I grad it, and ram it into the side of his skull for the coup de grâce.

Getting up groaning and still super pumped with adrenaline, I Yell “That's for what you did to me asshole”.

Josie, who stood frozen watching this whole kerfuffle happen, finally says “uhm, what was that about?! Daddy issues?”

“Huh, no,” I say, trying to get my breathing under control. ”He kinda looked like an old boss of mine”.

"Oh OK… and?" she asks tentatively “You feel better?”

“Kinda yeah. But I'll never get rid of the smell” I said looking down at myself.

“To be honest, I smelled you before I saw you.” Josie says, fighting a smile. We both start laughing. I haven't laughed in a while.

Josie and I leave the store together, mostly because wandering around alone is generally a bad idea. She’s been surviving on her own, same as me, though she’s got slightly better instincts and slightly worse luck.

We compare notes as we walk. She asks how I’ve managed to stay alive.

“Dumb luck and an extremely stupid weapon,” I say, tapping The Stabby Stabber.

She raises an eyebrow. “That thing looks like it could break in half.”

“Only happened twice so far.”

She laughs, and for a bit, the apocalypse doesn’t feel quite so bleak.

Evening: Campfire and Questions

We find a relatively safe spot—a rooftop with a rickety fire escape as the only entrance. Zombies aren’t great at climbing, so it’ll do for now. We sit in the fading sunlight, splitting the can of beans because bonding over bad food is apparently the new version of a first date.

I didn't invite her into my castle, for some reason it didn't feel right, maybe I wanted to see where things go. See if I can trust her. I don't know. I already took off my helmet and showed my face. It feels like I'm a bad Mandalorian. It made me feel so exposed and naked. I've got so used to the armour, and have slowly forgotten how it feels to have people around.

Josie studies me as she eats. “So, what’s your plan? You have one, right?”

“Survive,” I say with my mouth full. “Hopefully without doing anything too stupid, and long enough to get through this.” I shrug a little, as if not having more to say.

She gives me a look. “You’re wearing a full suit of armour on a bicycle, dude.”

I snort and agree, smirking, “yeah”.

A moment of quiet passes before she speaks again. “You ever think about finding other people? Or getting out of here?”

“All the time.” I poked at the empty can. “Just figured I’d be dead before it happened.”

She leans back against the rooftop edge, staring at the sky. “Well, you found me.”

I smirk again. “Or you found me. I was just looting a grocery store like an idiot.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Sir Vives-by-Luck, indeed.” and continues, ”where did you find your threads by the way?”

“ The armour?” I reply smiling, “my roommate, he used to go Larping”

“Gesundheit!” Josie exclaimed, signalling her confusion.

“Live action role playing” I explain chuckling, ”You basically dress as knights and shit and reenact some stuff. That's about what I understood, anyway.” I pause for a second and continue in a more serious tone, “He left one day to get groceries and never came back. I figured it would protect me against Zs, and it does! Very well, mind you, and since the world if fucked and since he's probably never using it, ever again, it's mine now.”

The sun dips below the horizon, the city below bathed in orange and shadow. It looks like a still and organized pile of embers. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel entirely alone.

As we sit there, I keep going back to something I heard on the way to the store earlier. I could swear I heard a motorcycle, like a chopper or something. Was it Josie's or someone else's? How many people are still out there? I shake it off, it's probably nothing.

Maybe dumb luck isn’t such a bad survival strategy after all. But maybe staying cooked up in my old flat is not how I will get through this.

Josie fell asleep sitting against the rooftops edge, I look at her and wonder about my future.

Tomorrow is probably gonna be a whole new kind of disaster.