We starved in the fallout shelter, awaiting winter’s end, with limited and repetitive rations.

One day, someone yelled cruel words: “Fresh-baked bread! Whipped butter! Crispy calamari! Spicy cocktail sauce! Grilled teriyaki salmon! Freshly brewed iced tea!”

When the kicks and punches started, I finally realized: the crazed person was me.

Michael Janairo’s last name is pronounced ha NIGH row. His writing is forthcoming in Star*Line Magazine and has been published in Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History, among others. He lives in upstate New York with his wife, son, and dog, and blogs at michaeljanairo.com.