Wandering aimlessly through the contours of my mind, I stumble over bits and pieces of debris and come across the things that I haven't replayed for quite some time.

I remember the stars falling in the distance. The mushroom clouds rose up over the remaining trees and deadened the darkening sky. Effortlessly, I moved through the valley, unaware of what was happening. Now I clench my heart, wishing I had the power to rip it out before I feel the next wave. Moving through the memories, it's almost clearer to me now than it was then.

The rocks were not rocks at all. The bones that I passed belonged to those I was told to forget. This place became something of a dessert. I've never known what rain feels like; the damage was too extensive. When it falls, it corrodes the land.

The scorched, lifeless hands of the victims stretched out towards me in menacing form, casting shadows of withered fingers. I tried to decide if they were pleading for help or reaching to claw at my flesh. I would pretend they were waving good-bye.

No one could bear the intensity of the sun. It was safer to cower in a concrete shelter than it was to play outside. For a long while, cement walls were more familiar than any kind of sky. Underground with rats, I learned companionship more than I had with any human being, though I vaguely remember my hand holding another just like it, only to be torn away before I had the chance to capture the rest of the image.

Everywhere was nowhere. I climbed to the highest points of the landscape to watch for signs of life. The constant emptiness that one felt was not something that could be overcome. The only bit of comfort was a small make-believe world that could be made. Apart from the world within a world that didn't care, there was hardly anything worth saving.

I never did realize what was going on. I still dream about it though: walking along the moonlit paths, my teddy bear lost, my bare feet bloody. The soldiers stepped out of the shadows and took whatever innocence I had left. I was hardly alive. It all happened in such a way that I dare not think about while I'm awake.

I guess sometimes the lines can blur between memory and imagination. But somehow every bit of it is as real as the rest.

Reality is not universal. It is an illusion, distinct and unique for each individual. Forming the words before I slip out of consciousness, I believe that I have discovered something that is completely enlightening. When I awake, I will have no memory of what it was.

I wonder how many people know what it's like to be dying before you even begin to live. Day by day, sinking into the soil from which you sprouted. When simply going through the motions, is anyone truly alive?

Now as I look out across the barren landscape, I detect no more life than I did in years past. The buildings on the horizon were long destroyed. The world is finally imploding and at last we will have to take responsibility for our actions.

It feels as if the last night on Earth has been stretched eternally - never ending, never bringing any sense of relief. The dust dances around me like a ghost, and fills my lungs. I fall to the ground.