and it's pitch black outside,
and there's nobody left,
and the only sound you hear
is the beating of your chest,
squint your eyes to see
the faint outlines of your breath,
before running in a direction
where you assume the others went.

a sky so full of stars,
that it looks more white than black,
the silence of no cars,
the panic of no way back,
the sweat upon your forehead
is working its way down,
its salty taste against your tongue,
before falling to the ground.

is this how it ends?
sprinting past trees at full speed?
the warmth of friends
replaced by the smell of weeds?
dirt and grass in place of
broken glass and concrete?
words meant to have been spoken
forever incomplete?

the wind is calm now,
as your endurance fades,
and as you pause to sit down,
memories are replayed,
how pointless was that anger?
that frustration? that shame?
had you known this was to happen,
would it have played out the same?