Harvey smiled as he pulled open the car’s passenger door. He took a small step back and stretched out his arm. Molly turned her head to the right slightly and squinted at him, as if she had just eaten something sour.
“M’lady,” he said.
“Harvey, please, stop making this so weird.”
“I’m just trying to be a gentleman for m’lady.” Harvey extended his hand further, careful not to touch her, and motioned for Molly to enter with his head. She rolled her eyes and quickly walked past him, then sat with a dejected smack.
“Honestly, I’m only doing this because you’re literally the last person on the planet.”
Harvey quickly tipped his fedora and closed the car door. He’d waited so long for this moment, dreaming of their perfect date for years. Even before the apocalypse, all he ever wanted was to go out—just once—with Molly. She was so perfect, so divine. She was everything he wanted, yet she never saw how wonderful they were for each other. Everything he tried to convince her with seemed to fail. He’d listen to her rant about her boyfriends all night long; hold doors open whenever she was around; buy her “friendship flowers,” as he called them, and give them to her for no reason. He’d even spent the majority of his paycheck on a beautiful new coat for her one time. No matter what, though, she always refused to date him.
Harvey strolled around to the other side of the car, taking his time and truly trying to enjoy the moment they were going to share. It may have taken the literal end of the world, but he was finally going on a date with Molly. She would finally see how wonderful he was, how perfect they were together. He opened the driver’s side door and sat down inside.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Harvey said. He smiled at Molly. She was staring out the passenger window, legs and arms crossed. She was so beautiful, despite being covered in dirt and soot. Her long, blonde hair curled erratically in all directions; a few strands had begun to clump together like dreadlocks. Her face was smudged with dirt, yet her pale skin still shone through, and her teeth—despite it being months since they’d seen even a dirty toothbrush—were as white as the first time he’d met her.
“Can you stop staring at me?”
Harvey smiled and returned his gaze forward. He quickly brushed his hands against his camouflage cargo shorts before touching the steering wheel, then raised his hands and placed them firmly atop it. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Are we gonna go?” Molly asked.
“What do you mean?” Harvey opened his eyes and turned back toward Molly. She was so beautiful.
“Why are we just sitting here?”
“We’re on a date, of course.”
“Wait, this is the date? This is where we’re going? You’re taking me to a shitty old car?”
Harvey laughed. “Of course not! This is just the first part! I thought we’d just sit in a car like the old days.”
“I live in a car, Harvey. You live in a car. We’re basically sitting in our houses right now. In fact, we have done this exact same thing almost every day for the last few months.”
“Fun, right?” Harvey turned around and grabbed a black fedora he had placed earlier from the back seat. He then swapped out the fedora on his head, opting for the far fancier color.
Harvey laughed. “You’re such a jokester!” Harvey reached into the back seat again and pulled out a plate and some spoons.
“Dinner – I made it earlier,” he said. He grabbed a severely dented pot next, and placed it on the arm-rest between them. “Can I just say that this is so much better now that you’re single.”
“Harvey, come on. That’s not cool, please stop saying that.”
“Your boyfriend was a dick!”
“Harvey, he died. My *fiancé* is dead. I loved him very much, please stop bringing him up.”
“What a tool. Anyway, I made us some pasta.”
Harvey opened up the metal tin between them revealing a bowl of watery noodles coated in a mysterious red sauce.
“Where did you get this?”
“Supermarket,” Harvey said.
“Harvey, the only things left in there were non-canned goods. This stuff is over a year old and coated in disease. It doesn’t matter if we’re immune, we probably shouldn’t be ingesting it.”
Harvey dipped his spoon into the pasta and brought a strand to his mouth then took a bite. “Delicious, tastes like our love – *fruitful.*”
Molly sighed and stared back out the window. “Do we really need to do this date nonsense? I know you’re the ‘romantic type,’ but you honestly don’t need to romance me. I’m not attracted to you at all, nor will I ever be. I just feel it’s important that we, you know, not allow the human race to die out this year.
“M’lady, you deserve the finest! Here, let me feed you some pasta.”
“Harvey, please, stop it.” Molly pushed Harvey’s hand away, knocking the pasta on the floor. Harvey smiled and returned the spoon to the bowl.
“You look famished,” he said. Harvey pulled the spoon back out and shoved it into her mouth, his body lunging in her direction. She shook her head violently, ripping the spoon from his hand. Harvey grabbed a fist full of pasta and smeared it across her face, clawing desperately for her mouth. It was so delicious, it tasted so great. He’d eaten some earlier, it was so perfect. If they were going to get married, she needed to look perfect – needed to gain a bit more weight and enjoy some perfect food. Just like they were going to be – absolutely perfect. Molly began to convulse; Harvey shoved his hand further into her mouth. He felt a pop as her jaw widened. She clawed at his arms, but he was now on top of her, shoving pasta as deep as he possibly could. She needed nourishment. It was so good – he hadn’t tasted pasta in well over a year. He used to make it every night. He’d go home after they would spend the day together, make some pasta, and enjoy it in the dark. It was so good.
Writing Prompt: While out on a date with the last (wo)man alive, you accidentally kill them.
(This was one of the weirdest stories I’ve written in a while. I kept trying to turn it into something funnier, but all the endings sucked. So I just went the obvious route and had him murder the woman with handfuls of spaghetti.)
Note: I am going to start putting the writing prompts at the bottom, rather than the top. It tends to ruin the joke, although sometimes it adds. I dunno. I’ll use my discretion. Holla.