I wake up. A normal day. By “normal” I just mean that it was the same as always. I woke up, having dreamt but no memorization of the experience. If life is hell I aspire to know what these dreams are, their aftertaste is so comforting, like I may as well have been getting a kiss on the head. It’s depressing. I can't tell what it was about.

I make the shuttle for breakfast, eating silently alone. I take a short walk outside to try and rid myself of this dreary headspace I’ve been in but it doesn’t subside.

Let’s--- I don’t know. Hmm. They say helping others helps you. What else helps? Walks are supposed to. Why don’t they? What am I missing? I’ll help someone then, I would enjoy seeing someone's smile at something I did for them, I imagine. Most people who need help are probably like me, so I’ll head back to the shelter.

Rounding back, a realization strikes me:

So that’s why he is always so nice? Maybe he’s just broken… 

I continue, ignoring the feeling in my heart that says nothing will help me. I continue, choking down that feeling. 

A truly strong person, the type of person anyone looks up to, they have none of the qualities I do. They don’t act like I do. You don’t see them moping around, they get it done. This is the start.

I open the door to the shelter with my newfound confidence but crumple at the sight of that man. 

I can’t start acting all heroic around this guy… He makes me feel like a speck on this planet. He’s too good. 

I meekly give up in the presence of his good deeds, feeling as though by involving myself with helping around the shelter would make me feel like some type of 3rd rate imposter. 

It’s time to leave then. My resolve wasn’t all that strong in the end. No one else will get me out of this.

Without further thought I walk straight back outside, walking the complete opposite route I normally do, but I ignore my thoughts, not letting a single doubt pop in my head. I silence it all.

The atmosphere changes drastically, in fact, there’s a proportional lack of people the further I continue on. 

With purpose, I continue, not letting thoughts pile on but my anxiety pumps nonetheless. 

I come up slowly to the border. It’s not the border between the evacuation and the outside world… It’s the destruction zone. This far out, completely abandoned, there are still cars out in the street, perfect buildings. A breeze gusts from the fields of rubble down the street, newspaper backing page, absent of all its other pages skipping across the ground, with a picture of a man prostrated in prayer on the cover. 

“God is well and truly dead.” I whisper to myself as I stare at the field of the destroyed city. 

I begin walking closer to it. I ignore the throbbing in my head.

I place my forefront foot on the mangled rebar in front of me, posting it, and grab ahold of the top of the wall at my chest’s height and climb myself over. I ignore the aching in my head. 

I continue, taking care not to roll my ankles but despite it my feet slip on a downward slope from the dust and I roll it anyhow. I recover, ignoring the pounding migraine.

I collapse under the spike in pain of the migraine as the visions fight to take over my consciousness, a bird’s eye view of the ancient looking pillars below me melding with the landscape around me, blurring reality. I plant my hands down avoiding hitting my head, but voices scream in my ears as if next to me, but I can’t make out what they say.

I hurry past the one story hotel that I first encountered months ago, but I stop dead in my tracks.

This… It was pristine. What happened?