14.
In ten minutes time the last of us die. Those who were still stood are gone, leaving only those who, like me, are laying on the ground, living to the very last second we are able to. From where I am I can’t see anyone else with a hole dug in front of them. I see hands clasped in prayer, I see crucifixes and rosary beads. I see smiling photographs, personal items. In front of me is a bundle of a few sheets of creased paper, with my words scrawled across them, and the hole they will be buried in, the only way I can even attempt to preserve this event for anyone who may one day come to have the means to read it. Under the ground might get refreshed in the same way as up here…I for one will never know. At least I will go with the hope that this can be partly explained, even if no one here ever came to understand.
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