When the world was ending, only one thing was going through my mind. When they were rising up and killing us all, there was only one simple sentence that plagued me, unceasingly. It just seemed to cry at me through the fog of the rest of the pain and destruction. That thing was that you are going to be pissed if you ever find out the part I played.

I'm sorry for what I did. I really am.

I'm in the kitchen, getting myself something to drink. It's six in the morning. I can hear the train going by overhead. Well, I can feel it. Everything's shaking. I'm used to it.

I spot a glass on my shelf skirting towards the edge of the vibrating counter. I wait and watch as it gets closer and closer, seeing if it can beat the train there or not. It does. I reach out in an attempt to smoothly pluck it from the air just as it topples over the edge, but I miss and it falls to the ground and shatters. I swear.

I step around the shattered glass as the train finally passes, everything going back to normal, and go find a broom and a dustpan. I feel like a responsible adult, cleaning up my messes. Shattered glass is no match for the fully grown man that I am.

My hand slips and I cut my thumb on the glass. Blood is pouring out. I swear again and go into the bathroom. I run my finger under cold water and put some hydrogen peroxide on it. It stings worse than the cut and I swear a third time.

I go back into the kitchen and clean up the glass. This time without any more blood.

I reach into the cupboard and pull out another glass and fill it with tap water. It tastes like rust and chemicals.