survivor's guilt.

  She watched her world crumble around her, dumbstruck with the realisation that she remained essentially unscathed. Everything... Everything was decimated, broken, destroyed. Except for her. She watched a scattering of debris remnants drift through the air before her with a dazed detachment. Lily heard not a murmur, not a sound. The normal susurration of a world about its business has ceased. There was no hum of traffic, no half-heard din of voices giving the ages old thrum of query and response. There was only her, and a distant rumble of settling rubble. Lily imagined it as the rheumatoid grumblings of an insomniac old man, readying himself for the late night Quincy rerun.

   "Is this a sign of what's to come?", she wondered, "Will I slowly be reduced to a series of flashback vignettes from a world no one else will ever know?" 

   Dismal thought, that. How cliché. Rod Serling would be proud.

Reviews

[Robin]

yes he would , only you would use susurration and quincy in the same poem

you cliche' - Nevah!

[SpokenWord]

To be the only human on earth would be hell within itself. I would go crazy after awhile with those same thoughts she thought to herself. i often think of the end of the world and wonder what it would be like. This was good and interesting to be inside of her head.