an empty city

forgot to post: my bad

It is three a.m. and the city is dark and still. Even the sirens are quiet ion the distance. The mass ruins that line the deserted and empty Street seem to be holding up the sky, which hangs low over the city like a heavy shroud, black and eyeless. But the silence holds expectation, and makes me shiver with dread in the heat. This city once lived; this city was once bustling, once thrived, and once dreamed when it slept. It's almost a relief now when the air is broken by an occasional scream or broken whiskey bottle tossed out of a tenement window. At least then I know I’m not alone in this empty town

This sense of foreboding has been with me for a month. I never sleep anymore, except for an hour or two at odd times of the day when I finally force my head to the pillow, because my sleep is filled with tension and terrible terrors. So I sit and wait, staring into the murky night, sweating, my heart pounding, the quiet and the darkness pressing in on me, waiting.

Several powerful blasts shake the ground. They are distant, but have a force beyond sound; I feel them internally, resonating in my chest. I am gripped by terror, a premonition of physical mutilation, like a horrible slashing of my internal organs. The feeling that doesn’t go away, it shakes you to your core and leaves a lasting impression in your mind.

I come to a church. It is more of a meeting hall than a church really. It is a simple wood frame structure with rough wood benches. There are a few people present. They are sitting, staring straight ahead, their faces like stone, terrifying to look at. They are all sick. Some of them are already dead. In a blind panic I run toward the front of the church, tripping over the benches, knocking them over, scraping my shins, hurting myself, not caring, scrambling over dying bodies. I sit down, exhausted, sweating. It is so quiet. No one moves. No one talks. No one cries. Just dead silence, utter stillness, as if a morgue held this ceremony.

I sit trembling in horror, not believing that this could be happening. I know now that there is no future. This is the end. I can't move my legs. I feel like I have been drugged. My mind is slipping away. A heavy blackness washes over me sweeping me off my feet and into a vision.

Everything is white. I am trudging through deep sand, delirious, struggling in the swirling heat. I tell my feet to move but the ground holds on to them after every step I feel weaker. The sun blazes down from a white sky, baking my skin, sucking out my strength. In my mouth there is the taste of sand and ashes.

Where did all the people go, or were there ever any people? Was the world always a desert? Is this after the war, or before? I try to remember the past, but I cannot; the past no longer exits. I am lured on by the shining towers of a white city shimmering in the distance, but I know it is only a mirage. Still, in spite of thirst and suffering, I stagger forward, undeterred by lack of purpose or destination.