I nearly stumble over wreckage and rubble as I venture forth from my resting place. Resting place, funny I should call it that… I awake from my “resting place” to begin a new day, to awake from the sleep that was my old life. I’m amused by own ignorance. This new… life… is hardly that. This all seems so surreal. My sight, I almost forgot, I must be getting used to it. I still can only see outlines of what used to be such a vivid perception. Fire is still fire, metal still metal, but color and texture are nonexistent, forced to become unimportant and forgotten.
     I’m lost in thought again, I find that all I have done since this apocalyptic endeavor is think. I think about the mountain of rubble. I think of this onslaught of broken buildings as a flood. I remember, the bible, a story of a man who built a boat and survived a flood that covered the entire world. Days passed, and afterwards, the man found himself alive, on top of a mountaintop. This man and his family then repopulated the Earth, a new Earth, purged of sin. Maybe this is how things have played out. I am that man, I have survived the flood, that mountain resting place was my salvation.
     Other survivors are emerging from the surrounding destruction. Their flesh is like mine. One being stands out, though. A man in a long cloak steps forward, shredded fabric dragging dust with it. “I see… that you are newly awakened…welcome to the new world…” he says in a raspy voice. “But… this is not your world… you are on my land… I must ask you…to remove yourself…”
   The others look on eagerly. I begin to speak, but I am halted by the visage of a withered child, he looks into me with eyes of hate, of malice, and this startles me. I can’t live in this broken world…I’m beginning to wish I was dead.