I sat on the bench in the park. Breathed in the air. Smelled the ash and dust.
It was quiet here, beneath the shade of the building, and it wasn't something so surprising. The city was empty. I was alone.
They say that death sends you somewhere either utterly amazing or utterly horrible. I can say that death brings you to neither. I died a while ago, though time seems to freeze here. I wondered where I was, for a while, and where everyone else was. But this place, this quiet, lonely place, is now my home.
I lean back and sigh. Home. It seems like such a crazy thing to call this place. Wherever it is. I suppose it doesn't matter--the place doesn't end. We end though. Lives. No matter how far I walk, the city never becomes any louder, any better, any...thing. That's also how lives are, I muse as I stare at the water of the pond. It's funny. Everything about this city reminds me of
But now, all I am, is empty.
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MiddleSchoolerEpicness (joined about 8 years ago)
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