Trash. Everywhere. Trash. Filling the corners, the cracks, the spaces, the streets. Streets? No—streets. Where did they go? Broken glass, shattered windows, abandoned things. People don’t walk anymore. They crawl not run, crawl through the dirt, the piles, the muck. The air smells, not of anything—just of the past. Of something that used to be here, something that’s gone. But not gone—never gone. Just here. Stuck. Still stuck.
Cars, no. No, they don’t stop. They screech, that sound—always screeching, wheels turning, never stopping. No. Why don’t they stop? They should’ve stopped. He should’ve stopped.
Man. Man. A figure. Him. Walking, no—no walking, dragging, dragging himself toward the center, where the black lines all come together, where the cars come crashing, crushing, and there—there it is again, the same place. The same place over and over. It’s all the same. Same. Never changing. Never stopping.
Didn’t stop. He never stopped, never slowed. No care. No care at all. Cars hit him. Hit him, hit him, hit him, again, again, again, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t fall? Didn’t fall? He should’ve. But no. He’s still walking. Still walking. Or maybe crawling. No—no, wait, he’s not. He’s somewhere. Somewhere he shouldn’t be.
Where? Where is he now? Where’s he gone?
The sky? The sky is never right. Never right, never right. It was never right to begin with. When? When did it start? When did it—no, no time, no time for that now. It’s all happening now, but not happening. Just there. Spinning. The city spinning. Spinning into itself, out of itself, just—just—spinning. Spinning. It was. It wasn’t. It is. It isn’t.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore. Where are they all? They should’ve been somewhere else by now, but they’re not. The windows are gone. But still there. Not gone. Never gone. The people, the people, the ones before, the ones after, where are they? Where are you?
Chaos. It’s all chaos. Chaos is normal now. Or is it? Is it? Was it? Are we normal? Are we even here? Where did they go? Where did the people go? Gone? Gone like the traffic. Gone like the city. Gone.
The wind doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop. What is it? No, there’s no ‘it.’ Just wind. Just wind.
The streets never end, the trash, the endless piles of trash, the garbage that won’t go away, the roads that lead to the same place—same place. No escape. No escape. No way out. Not here, not now.
Where did it end? Where did it go? Where did it stop? It didn’t stop.
The man, he—he’s not—he didn’t stop. He was gone, gone like the others. Gone but not gone. He’s still there. Walking. He was walking, but where? Where is he now? Where?
The lights flicker. The cars, the noise. The black lines. The screaming.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore. Not anymore.
What happened here? Where are the people? Where are they? They are still here, aren’t they? Not gone. Not gone. They just—just—just don’t move anymore. But they’re here. They’re here. They’re here somewhere. Somewhere.
We all are. Aren’t we?
Where?
