Red mist. It fills every empty space in the world, like a windy day on Mars. If Mars has wind. I've heard the storms send red dust miles into the air. Surely it has breezes, too.

I'm on foot. West seems like the right direction to go... if I can find West. The sky is a constant orange haze, and the bright spot that might be the sun moves erratically, rising and setting when and where it fancies. Time and direction don't mean much. But it feels like I'm moving West.

What's most upsetting is that I don't remember the world ending.

I remember leaving the bank, driving home, watching CSI: Miami. And then I remember wiping this awful red dust off my suit.

I remember looking back at the ghost of Dallas. I tried to walk back, but the rubble kept rippling out of my vision. And when I could see it again, I'd find that I'd changed directions, and the city was even further away. And I felt like it didn't want me. That I could never get there. It felt wrong.

So I turned around and went West.

                  (the silhouette of a house begins to take shape in the distance)

back  home