I lay weary in the bed of thorns that they have woven for me. I hear the whispers of dying souls from ages long gone. I listen to their cries of lonelyness and boredom, a cacophony of wails and screams.

Silence comes suddenly.

The flaming eyes of the living stare at my naked body shivering in the putrid rain- they are scared of me, yet they watch. My bony hands smash into the glass weakly, the men within moving away- startled. I should not be.

My reflection- nothing more than a corpse. Dry, weak, lifeless.

They used to be like me. They used to live where I stand now. But they chose to sacrifice the earth, so they could live longer. The world is dead, the skies are black and I am alone out here- I am the last of the old men, somehow still alive- my body refusing to die alongside the planet that birthed it.

The steel domes, the tips of the underground complexes webbed across the innards of the ground, they hide within. No longer men, no longer human, no longer alive. I am alone.

I skulk back into the shadows and hide.

I remember the last days- when the planes filled the sky with darkness and the government told us it would all be fine. The chemicals were supposed to stop the changes in our earth and makes us stronger, but they didn't. The clouds were too thick. I remember the last time I saw the sun...

They hid underground, they changed themselves. Those who chose not to tried to live off the last remaining life out here, in the wastes- they died. Except for me. I live, nobody knows for how long now, including myself. I wander from dome to dome, begging to be killed, begging to sleep at last.

They stare at me with mechanical eyes dotted on motionless faces. They are scared of me, of the past, of what they've done.