The war broke out in August, I think. The leaves were starting to fall, and the rain was coming in. The nuclear missiles fired near to Christmas, wiping out most of the world's population. But we kept on going. Nothing stops the karaoke.
Between singing, we boarded up the bar, to keep out the mutants. After a few months, we began to run out of crisps, nuts, lager and beermats, and starvation set in. Mike died from a complication of the liver, so we ate him first. Two weeks later, we opened the front door to look for food. Unfortunately, the mutants forced their way in. They took the karaoke machine away. Sometimes, late at night, we can hear them: Poor renditions of power ballets, carried in by the wind. The world seems cold and lonely now. I think I shall starve, there is little else to do.