Everywhere at the End Of Time

It's Just a Burning Memory

The day was new, the sun resting in the sky, sunlight washing over the ruins and remains of the outskirts. He was still sleeping, a soft blue comforter laid calmly across him. His days were getting shorter, sleeping in longer than he knew was normal for him. People asked, and he just brushed it off. He knew full well there was a reason for this, but he wanted to spare worry from his friends.

He was dying, and he knew it. The harsh thoughts bothered him, but he'd never admit it- Hell, he hadn't even told his friends about his diagnosis yet. But today, with its harsh sun and its heavy, fogged up air, was yet another day he would be forced to dwell on it. A soft buzz from his phone, and a rising from bed was an easy alert to what was to happen next. 

The room he was in was painted a harsh white, with sparse decorations scattered across the wall. the room was cold, figuratively and quite literally. He never bothered to turn on the AC, “Not that he deserved it anyways”, his brain spat at him. He waved away the thought, used to the notion by now. Ever since the killing game, he had started to even believe it. He decided to move on however, continuing with his morning motions. Clothes were tumbling out of his dresser, inviting him over to change. He was still in his clothes from the day before, a soft white t-shirt and his trademark jacket. Even on the hottest days of summer, he refused to go without it.

It was a quick change, as he threw on the loosest shirt in the pile. He flew down the stairs, sidestepping into the kitchen to slap lidocaine and some saran wrap on his port-o-cath, feeling around for the small objects characteristic resistance was uncomfortable, but unfortunately necessary. The day was still anew, the soft light illuminating his sad figure as he made his way to the door. He had a small car outside, its silver paint gleaming in the morning sun. He got in, keys jangling as the engine began to roar.

The road to the hospital was slow and sweet, and he took his time to take in the scenery. Grass was starting to sprout from the fallen buildings, and the survivors of the end of the world were starting to rebuild. He would be helping out his peers, but he genuinely didn't have the strength anymore. With the prosthetic, and his recent diagnosis, there was no way in hell.

The hospital was approaching now, its tall, imposing walls sending shivers down the boy's spine. As he pulled in, he took a minute to think. "It's just a routine chemo session. You've done these almost 15 times now, what the fuck is worrying you now? Are you worried about trash like you dying? Just get it over with. Get it over with and go back to the people that you care about, and let them believe you're ok,

You're just fine, and they'll believe that till the end."

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the car, passing it onto the valet. They knew him by now, as not many people were left in the outskirts to remember.

As he began to step towards the hospital, the scenery confused him, if just a little bit. People from all walks of life were beside him, laughing, smiling, as they walked. How anyone could feel happy, have fun in this positively hopeless place,astounded him. Everyone could make a happy memory out of a horrific time except for him, no. he saw the situation as what it really was. His doom.

As he entered, his expression changed, his fake smile fell, and his eyebrows scrunched as he glanced around. He could have sworn it looked different the last time he entered, that the shades were a different shade of yellow, that the decorations were a different species of fish. The memory he had of the place, even of his last chemo session was starting to fade away. It was there, but the paths were detaching from what was left of his brain.