I walk along the overgrown road. A sign, next to it a crashed Grand Cherokee. I climb in and turn the ignition. It makes a noise for a moment before getting it gets to work. I drive it into the town and see a parked BMW in a Burger King. Next to it a 9 seater van. I keep driving. Thinking of everyone who used to be inhabiting the town. County. State. Country. World. I drove past the elementary school. A tear wells in my eye. I keep driving. By the time I get to my destination, the library, I had decided that living my last days reading is of no use, for I have no one to talk about them to. Entering, I see what I can only assume used to be a sheriff, on a seat. In front of what I can only assume used to be Pre-K children. Heading upstairs, I see the book I'm looking for. The Road, Cormac McArthy. As I pick up the leather cover, I sit down and weigh the sheriffs sidearm in one hand and McArthy's work in the other. Which one is of use, leisure or extermination. There will be no last human words spoken. With that being thought, I take one last breath. The human race goes dark.
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