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2012+1
The sun rests low on the horizon; a red stain across the sky. Like blood pooled in the corners of the world. It gives proof to the death of the earth, its populace now gone, except for me. But I am only one.
Nothing serves a purpose anymore. Gone are the hopes for salvation, reincarnation, or miracles. Only cockroaches breed. As out of dreams, nightmares are bred; bred when dreams are shattered. Shattered when nightmares are dreamt.
My dream has become a nightmare; my nightmare has become a reality; reality is useless to me now. Reality used to be my push. My push? Drugs… Money for meth, cash for chronic, hundreds for heroin. Ask and you would receive. It was a pleasure to serve, to provide that high, to fix what was broken. If only temporarily.
It was my world, crumbling though it was; recession, war, political upheaval. Dope did provide escape; I provided the means to get away from it all. Now it is gone, all lost, to the whim of man… With a command, with a word, apocalypse has come. There is no fix now, no escape, not even temporarily.
These roaches that I step upon, they are all that is left, all that has survived, and me… It was not supposed to be like this, but there you have it…
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