Perhaps it would have been adequate to describe the sun as just beating down on Manhattan, the brilliance of a star so damn close to the Earth, that it was certainly enough to convince Parthen that he now occupied his own slice of Hell. He'd grown accustomed to such a hatred here, slumped in the raised corner of beige concrete walling, atop the roof of his building. But as he stared into the sky, a mere distraction from the reality on the ground, Parthen hated the sun for a different reason.<br/><br/>It was easy to imagine the giant ball of white turning around, having donned a pair of sun glasses, lips curling and opening to form a smile that took half its face, and laughing a deep, hearty laugh. If it could, as it did for Parthen, when it finished laughing, the face would sigh, subsiding into chuckles. After the last, it would address everyone as it did he.<br/><br/>"When there is dark even during my day, the souls of the many only turn blacker when the dark grows darker. There's a thumb sized smear being drawn across the transparent human face. But I say, when it's all over, only maybe will you still know who's the beast; it's already hard to see a shadow."<br/><br/>That it was, Parthen agreed, though he knew it was petty. For the less fortunate, such thoughts were a privilege reserved for infinitely richer people, those living outside of Manhattan right now. At one time, Parthen had actually thought himself rich in a way. But two of three galleons of water had disappeared pretty quick here, and the half full plastic he had left only mildly compensated for a long since empty stomach. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him either. Not even five feet away from him lay at least four million dollars of worth, conveniently stuffed into a black duffel bag. But it wasn't food, and there were certainly things worse than food that he could consume.<br/><br/>Parthen thought it a grand way to die, talking to the sun while humanity slowly bled to death. He wanted no part in the final fall, just as he'd resisted holding up the bridge as it cracked. Let him lay here, rotting into nothingness. The pain of starvation had slowly set in for the past week, like creeping vines strangling an oak tree in a thick forest. They would have called up to the tree, a joke among themselves as the frightened individual succumbed to the worst fear; the fear of death.<br/><br/>"Come with us, come down with us," they would plead, "We have more for you down here than you can have up there."<br/><br/>He could feel them, too, on his own self. In the lack of something solid, tendrils would eventually emerge from his stomach and push themselves up through his esophagus, forcing a very uncomfortable and visible expansion. The sickly flesh colored thing would keep coming through, growing and growing until it unhinged Parthen's jaw and his was face pressed against the rough stone, immobile, the beast too heavy for such a weak neck to sustain. He would feel it flail around, searching for something, anything. But then the snake would sigh, and turn on it's host. What would it eat first? A hand? A leg?<br/><br/>But of course, the sun would not have that. If there was no Parthen, how would the sun speak?<br/><br/>There wasn't really a lot left in him to be coherent, but the commotion a few buildings behind him was obvious. By the time the young man was able to throw himself onto his stomach, and slowly raise off the ground, all he could really do was flop himself onto the concrete walling. With such exertion, the four foot high support was very welcome. His black fur-lined hood was pulled back, although the coat was still adorned, and for a few seconds, he lay there.Truthfully, there was time required to gather the energy he needed to raise his head. A few weeks ago, perhaps he would have been worried about sweat dripping and stinging his eyes, but now, with dirt and perspiration residue caked on his face, even his short goatee was stiff.<br/><br/>Through his personal trial, Parthen could hear the familiar sound of a chase, a dull and heavy thud, and then nothing. There were many boots that scampered about, but when he looked, he only saw one pair. Between himself and where he watched the fur coated man rise, there was another building, slightly shorter than his own, but at least fifteen feet from and ten feet above the one in between. It wasn't difficult to put two in two together, and while there were certainly any number of men that wondered here that would be happy to slit his throat, Parthen could feel his vitality draining. At least, he thought, this one was running from something. It was more difficult to kill someone else if you were afraid of dying yourself.<br/><br/>There were a few second when he considered trying to shout, but he knew the act would be futile. Instead, as he watched the man head towards an exit on the lower buildings roof top, Parthen found some final strength to blindly grab a rock and throw it in the general direction of the other survivor.<br/><br/>All the while, the sun laughed. Humanity was a joke, after all.