A Cure for Post-Apocalyptic Depressions [male-futa, anal, oppai-loli]

“No reason to get all upset over some dream. Not right after waking up.” Ton said to himself. Soliloquizing was recommended. Not only was it said to have a positive effect on the psyche, it also prevented him from gradually forgetting how to speak. Because there weren't a lot of people around that Ton could have talked to. Not any, to be exact.

Only dressed in his boxers, Ton got up from his bed and walked over to the window. It was still raining. The whole sky was covered in dark-red clouds. The sea underneath was pitch-black. Ton kept staring at the apocalyptic scenery for a while. Rain was a bad thing because it made the radiation level rise. But Ton kinda liked the constant sound it made. He preferred it over the deathly silence of the dry days.

Ton walked over to the couch and sat down, still looking outside the window and watching the raindrops being whirled around in the wind. “Time for breakfast.” he said to himself. It actually was a joke. Fourteen bottles with pills were lined on the table in front of Ton. He had to take eight of these first thing in the day. That's what he jokingly referred to as 'breakfast'. Just like every other day, Ton went through the bottles from left to right and took a single pill out of each of them. One was white, one was yellow, one was gray… They all didn't taste particularly well. Ton stuffed them into his mouth and swallowed the pills. He wasn't even sure of what they did exactly. Their labels said things like 'Prevention of thyroid cancer', 'Prevention of leukemia' and so on. But Ton didn't trust these labels too much. He knew that most written words were made to deceive people.

After that, it was time for Ton's true breakfast. Just like every other meal, it consisted of a thick soy paste that Ton spooned into his mouth from a huge plastic jar. Although it always tasted the same, Ton never really grew tired of it. He had hardly eaten anything else in the last twelve years. To him, this dark red paste was like the definition of food. He vaguely remembered once eating some kind of fruit when he had been a child. But like all his childhood memories, he wasn't really sure whether it was genuine. It could have been something that he made up during his years of isolation.

When he didn't feel hungry anymore, Ton put down his spoon. Again, the only sound to be heard was the constant patter of rain. Ton wondered whether he should go back to sleep. After all, it was so dark that he could hardly see anything. Theoretically, Ton could have turned on the lights in his room. But use of electricity was only permitted in emergencies. So he had to stay in the dark. Ton groaned and put his feet on the table. He should stay awake, he told himself. Sleeping too much was said to be unhealthy.

Ton trudged to the bath room. Going to the toilet, washing himself with cold water, brushing his teeth. All the same old daily routine. Ton lit a candle so that he could at least see his own face in the mirror. His beard was getting itchy. He decided to shave it off. One of the guidelines said that 'shaving every day, keeping one's hair groomed and dressing properly helps to keep up self-confidence'. And self-confidence was the best defense against mental illness. Right. The guideline even contained some pictures with different hairstyles. Ton had tried out all of them at some point in time. He was always thankful for having something to do to kill time.

Ton watched his face in the mirror for a while. Maybe he should cut his hair soon? It was getting kinda long. Ton wasn't too fond of his hair. Mostly because it was snow white. Not exactly the hair color a seventeen year old boy should normally have. He stared into his own dark gray eyes. He wondered whether a girl would consider him to be handsome. Ton honestly had no idea. For all he knew, he could have been the ugliest guy in the whole wide world.

He blew out the candle and went back into the living room. It was still very dark. Too dark to read a book. Reading was Ton's favorite pastime. There were some books that he had read several hundred times. On some days, he read up to thousand pages. But not if it was too dark to even see your hand in front of your face. And he didn't want to waste too many candles.

Ton yawned again. He needed something to do or he would eventually fall asleep again. “Maybe I'll go and check whethe

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