After All This

Part 1

Upon a hill we may rise, to see the devastation that below us lies.  After the sun set upon this civilisation, what remains is the remnants of the humans and the rise of what comes after.  There are always echoes of the before, after the next wave comes. We thought all too much of ourselves. That was our short sightedness.  I shall not claim glory, for what remains is often only the worried and tired, waiting for the inevitable end.

Part 2

Slit her wrist to see the blood.  She sighs, it is better to see the in without, than to let the out in.  It runs down her arm, thick and warm, not like blood at all, but more congealed.  The light is dim, yet it reflects off the crimson trail on her arm.

It takes very little time for the pills to work.  Combined with the alcohol it speeds the suppression to the brain, which slows the respiration.  One breath labors to be known, the next may be the last or perhaps two more. She attempts to lift her hand, it no longer responds, or it does so slowly as to not matter that it does.

The light dims, her eyes cease to be of any use.  They were never really all that good to begin with.  Just another sip, but it can not be taken, for there is nothing but stillness from the machine that once held hostage her being.

Hollow is the sounds that she hears, the wail of a siren.  Far, too far to do her any good. They come just the same, all decked out in whites, to prove their purity.   One more breath struggles to be had, the rest is darkness. Even as her heart forgets to pump, even as the sound of voices frantic to dispel this course of action begin to fade.  She smiles a small inward smile, that never reaches her cooling lips.

Too late to save her from herself.  They lose, she wins. A minute victory, she will soon learn.

Part 3

“Pleased with yourself” he asks?

“Not really, disappointed more than anything”  she says.

“Ah, so not what you were expecting, hmm”  he says.

“Nothing like the stories, well, except the emptiness, that is definitely something I heard about”  she says.

“You can not fill a full cup, just as you can not drink from an empty one”  he says.

“So, is Schrodinger’s cat around here somewhere”  she asks?

“And a sense of humor, how dull”  he says.

“And you are” she asks?

“No one, just a traveler like yourself, though I have perhaps walked these paths more often, that is all”  he says.

“Now you are dull, thank you, goodbye” she says, as she walks away.

The trees seem the same, only not the same, more ancient, is the best description.  Something else, there is no sense of time, like whatever happens, it is all at once.  Now, then, next, terms that hold no weight in this hollow hold. Another thing, the air seems still, stale, stagnant almost.  Something like holding your breath, indefinitely.

Part 4

When the dust has settled down, and nothing left is what it was, can the creature that now comes, survive?  Will it find this inhospitable world just too much to digest?

Part 5

As she strutted through the trees, into the bright light of day, knowing nothing of the haze, she found no air disturbed.  The dust settled immediately. Her curiosity peaked, she followed the trail upon which she tread. No prints were left behind, just as strange no markings of previous passing marred the track.

What sloth had created this path, meticulous in design, as to lead away, leaving nothing in its wake.  Dusk had come as she trudged, the endless grasses and flora not unfamiliar, yet somehow less distinct in its sameness.  It was pitch before she found a crossroads. There she stood, not sure which direction she should choose.

Of the three that presented there, none were more significant than the last.  She peered through the darkened alleyways, a moonless light presented no wealth of gain in any choice to be made.