text: There was nothing left. His favorite coffee place, the bustling streets, the way people walked along the footpaths, his wife, his children, family, friends, society, everything. There was nothing left. The sky was red, the air burned violently like the harshest burst of fire from a dying sun. His skin, hands, feet, legs, eyes, mouth, it all burned as he emerged from the rubble. He had lost his engagement ring during the desperate struggle out. His shoulder felt like it was shattered, but the pain was but a subtle sensation, an afterthought. He already knew what had happened as soon as his world collapsed upon him. The world was gone. All those sleepless nights reading articles on the instability of the current governing powers, or the rising civil unrest as supply lines were cut and more and more people rioted in the streets. He barely acknowledged his wife and children anymore, the blinding white screen, it had showed him the oncoming storm. He mentioned it in passing to his co-workers, on his way back from the espresso machine. His eyes sunken holes, his white-collar shirt wrinkled, with strands of morose grey hair falling over his face. They all nodded and agreed that the world was shit. But it was ordered, and everything would continue. He would fake a smile, force a laugh, agree and move back to his daily routine of waiting for the end. He would finish work, wave goodbye to his cohort, and drive back home. Waiting for the end. The skyscrapers glistened in the golden hours of the sky. Billboards light up and moved around, animated with electronic life. The highways sprawled for miles, littered with many like himself, stuck in their cars. Waiting for the end. The wind howled. The horizon was scorched skyscrapers, billboards and highways. Bright green particles danced in the wind, performing a final waltz for the end of world. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the apocalyptic performance. Yes, he thought, this is the end. The distant groan from a collapsing city block in the far distance, agreed in unison. His coughing scarred him to his core. Blood splattered the soot covered rubble. Yes, he thought, as his diaphragm croaked and spluttered with such immense pain. This is death. He reached for his phone, standing among the buried heap of his dead world. There was one message, shining, flickering through the fragmented glass. We love you. He held the phone close to his broken body. He heaved one final sob as his vision began to blur. His entire life, he tried to grasp onto something, anything. The way he saw his son catch a ball in the backyard, sandy blonde hair ruffled, big blue eyes and gleeful gaping grin directing itself in his direction. The way his wife’s hair smelt as he lay in bed with her, arms tight around her in the late hours of the night. The way his baby daughter laughed happily at her mother’s attempts to entertain her. He tried so hard. But there was nothing left.