I lie in my nest of dirty blankets and dream

[feygan]

I lie in my nest of dirty blankets and dream of the world Before.

Before the disease. Before the War. Before everything went so horribly wrong.

Once upon a time there were clean sheets smelling of laundry detergent. There were car trips cross country and laughing hobo showers in gas station bathrooms. There were long hugs and slow kisses and the dream of a big wedding someday.

Only someday never came and never will. There's just me now. Alone. I can't even be afraid; it burnt out.

I hear it. Someone is rattling the locked screen door. It's only a matter of time before they get in.

I pull my blankets tighter around me--the fleece has gone all nappy with dirtiness and age--and close my eyes tight. I will myself back in time to that life I didn't appreciate when I had it. The family I didn't love enough, the comforts I didn't enjoy, and the future I shrugged about, trusting to the adage of "come what may."

Well, now may is coming my way, and it isn't going to be anything good. Once again my world is ending, and this time I don't think there's going to be another one to take its place.

I close my eyes. Whisper, "Come what may." And let go.