The scattered dust of a nuclear winter settles on the irradiated skeletal forms of the occupants of the table, their flesh long stripped away leaving only soot-scarred bone. Not a soul remains except the spirit of the old woman, lifting ethereal dishes and plates in a gross pantomime of her former life. “Eat…” she whispers, shoving another spoonful of cake into the eternally-grinning jaws of her loved ones, “you must… eat.”