A Short Story: The Ends of the Earth

I take a deep breath, leaning my ragged and worn body against an old, splintered, fallen tree.  I'm tired.  The sky is dark, as it always was now-- days are dark gray and the nights are just, for lack of a better word, darker. The wind is crisp, hinting at a rain oncoming from the blanketed blackness at the western horizon.

I sit down at the fire pit I've put together, under my shelter. My wallet sits in my hand-- I always take it out of my back pocket so I don't sit lopsided.  It's habit now.  I turn it over and over in my hand, looking at it curiously.  It's black and worn down to the edges, rubbed grey in more areas than where it's still black.  I'm not sure if it was even real leather-- the label wore away  long ago.

What I thought was my whole being and my whole identity, right here in my hand; everything I am-- My name, my weight and height, my address, my eye color; my identity.  It used to hold my money and my debt, my family in a little picture and little notes to myself for whatever reason.

I flipped it open and slid out my driver's license between my thumb and index finger and really look at it.  I laugh at its pointlessness. It means nothing now. There was no point to any of it anymore.  I see all there was in my wallet, took one more deep breath, and toss it deep into the glowing embers of the fire before me.  I sit and watch it burn away to a small, black mass; to nothing.

Everything that was has become something different now.  Everything is changed.  Everything.

The things that weighed heavy on our minds back before the end were gone now-- smart phones, Hollywood gossip, politics, football, so called "reality" shows, video games, Viagra, enhancement surgeries-- all things that didn't even matter. They were nothing more than a distraction.

And most of the things that did matter, they're gone, too.  All of it. Gone.

I am alone.  Again.

The things that weigh heavy now are the things we never saw in the first place.  The simple things. The necessary things. As the rain moves closer, almost overhead, I push myself further back under my shelter.  Several thick drops of rain start the wet patter around me.  There's plenty of time to think nowadays.  It's still much better to do it dry instead of wet if you can help it.

Here I am, at the end of the Earth, thinking about what was, just trying to stay dry.  I'm just trying to survive.  One more day.