In the End
The sun leaked through the empty window, showing the empty-outside world.
Brocken glass littered the pavements, cars left unattended in the streets.
I scanned my surroundings again. That's when I saw it.
New York Times 1Feb 3005
I refrained from reading it again.
I knew what happened. I was there.
The world had died. and with it, three fourths of its' population.
And my sanity.
That was one of my more sadistic writtings, but I hoped you liked it.
Please vote and comment, thank you.
YOU ARE READING
Think about it
PoetryIt makes absolutely no sense. It isn't a story, It has no plot. Its a poem, its a thought its a short story or a scene. It could be anything.
