Trent Mcnurn never enjoyed his job teaching English in his small home town's only high school. He was always told that he was "special".

"You will accomplish great things, son." His father's voice echoed in his mind like the now-vanished sounds of his students talking over his lectures. He never told them to be quiet. He taught, as he was instructed to do, without halting.

"My father was full of it."

Trent was never one for discussing politics, nor was he ever an intimidating person. He had the same sandwich every day for lunch with a sprite. He walked for an hour outside each night. He listened to Erik Satie on his first edition iPod, which was 10 years outdated. He was as simple man. He had not accomplished anything "great" (as his father would tell him, almost weekly, it seemed). Yet, Trent always remembered that sentence. He always held onto the hope that one day, someone out there would recognize him for what he was - a normal human being. After the world ended, Trent remained melancholic. He had been nursing this numbness for years. This felt almost right to him. He would accomplish something great here, and if not, it did not matter.