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Description
You knew it would end here, sitting at the crest of a grassy knoll, watching the sun sink behind the trees. Your final day spent alone. Well you haven't really been alive have you. Drifting from empty house to empty house. Occasionally something would bring you back, wildlife, flowers, thunder ricocheting around the empty rooms, just for a moment or two.

You wonder if somewhere they are the ones missing you. If you were the one who disappeared, and the cars aren't rusting where their engines stopped, and the leaves aren't overgrowing the garage doors. The only difference in the world is that you are dead and buried, no difference at all.

Then why does the bottle in your hand feel so real? The plastic is hard and it doesn't break when you squeeze. The lid won't shift either, you have to twist it holding your breath and turning your cheeks red before it'll even budge. They spill out in to your hands, tiny things that once helped a woman with her diabetes. She took them daily so she could live. You're going to swallow them all at once so you won't.

You raise your shaking hand, pale and marked with scrapes and bruises. You weren't built to fend for yourself. Your lips, dry and cracked, part just wide enough for a few to slip through. You wash those down with the beer you looted from a warm kitchen. It's been sitting in a bucket of cold water all afternoon. You don't even like beer.

More pills, more beer.

Your stomach ties itself in to a knot. No more.

The sun dies, leaving the sky raw and featureless, pink bleeding in to royal blue. You swallow the last of them and drink as much as you can before the taste is too much. It's not long before you're tired, blinking in to the ground. The grass you had been lying on is brushing against your nose, your eye lids. In the palm of your hand it tickles the skin, and at the same time it comforts you, like a hand holding yours. You dig your fingertips into the soil and it feels warm. Your grounded, and this nightmare is gone.

You left them, you must have. A species doesn't simply disappear. One person, well one person dies every second.

Description
You knew it would end here, sitting at the crest of a grassy knoll, watching the sun sink behind the trees. Your final day spent alone. Well you haven't really been alive have you. Drifting from empty house to empty house. Occasionally something would bring you back, wildlife, flowers, thunder ricocheting around the empty rooms, just for a moment or two.

You wonder if somewhere they are the ones missing you. If you were the one who disappeared, and the cars aren't rusting where their engines stopped, and the leaves aren't overgrowing the garage doors. The only difference in the world is that you are dead and buried, no difference at all.

Then why does the bottle in your hand feel so real? The plastic is hard and it doesn't break when you squeeze. The lid won't shift either, you have to twist it holding your breath and turning your cheeks red before it'll even budge. They spill out in to your hands, tiny things that once helped a woman with her diabetes. She took them daily so she could live. You're going to swallow them all at once so you won't.

You raise your shaking hand, pale and marked with scrapes and bruises. You weren't built to fend for yourself. Your lips, dry and cracked, part just wide enough for a few to slip through. You wash those down with the beer you looted from a warm kitchen. It's been sitting in a bucket of cold water all afternoon. You don't even like beer.

More pills, more beer.

Your stomach ties itself in to a knot. No more.

The sun dies, leaving the sky raw and featureless, pink bleeding in to royal blue. You swallow the last of them and drink as much as you can before the taste is too much. It's not long before you're tired, blinking in to the ground. The grass you had been lying on is brushing against your nose, your eye lids. In the palm of your hand it tickles the skin, and at the same time it comforts you, like a hand holding yours. You dig your fingertips into the soil and it feels warm. Your grounded, and this nightmare is gone.

You left them, you must have. A species doesn't simply disappear. One person, well one person dies every second.