1.
The wind whistles distantly, all other noise long since departed. Their fingers intertwine, hands gently folded together as a single gesture of comfort. She looks over, studying his face as though to immortalize this moment. The dull texture of stubble showing where he forgot to shave this morning, the way his hair tangles behind his head as though he hasn't ever brushed it. Without even thinking about it, she reaches over and brushes the hair out of his eyes. He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.
2.
The golden liquid swirls in the glass as he shakes it, rattling the ice. The room is silent and comfortable, hard natural rock walls covered by tapestries and expensive paintings. He takes a sip as he settles into the leather chair by the roaring fire. Somewhere far above, the smoke curls out of the ventilation shaft into the atmosphere. The chair creaks as he adjusts his position. His eyes find themselves on the painting above the mantle, an ancient depiction of the gods and fire and war. He smiles contently.
3.
The frying pan sits upon the stove, heat channeling through it. The onions hiss gently, steam curling slowly upwards carrying their warm scent. The chopping board sits on the counter, knife next to a pile of more chopped vegetables. The kitchen, warm and cozy, is scattered mess. There are dishes in the sink to be washed. There is a pile of mail on the counter. There are the non-perishables from the last grocery trip, still piled and waiting to be moved inside cupboards. Nobody comes as the onions blacken, curl up, catch fire, and burn.
4.
The crowd simply moves around the corpse as though it isn't there. They step over it, pointedly ignoring it. Large steps so as not to disturb what could be rationalized as sleep. Adults pull children to the side, children whose legs aren't quite long enough and whose hands are a little too curious. The corpse can't protest this treatment. It's dead.
5.
The cat sits by the food bowl and meows. It stays there for just a few days until it becomes clear that no one is coming.
6.
They sit atop the hood of the car and pass the beer back and forth, taking slow sips. They still have half a tank of gas, a large bottle of water, and several days of canned food. They're done moving. There's nowhere left to go.
7.
There's a fire in the sky. The group covers their eyes to shadow them, sweat and dust covering worn clothes. They whisper amongst themselves. It isn't the sun and it isn't a bomb. It's something unknown. Something new. They confer for just a few moments before turning away from it and putting their minds to more practical concerns. They've been walking for a long time. They'll be walking for a long time yet.
8.
The rocket dimly sputters. The man atop it screams with pain and rage. Mayhap had he not left it so late, mayhap had he done things differently, mayhap had he gone first. Would that he could have another chance. Would that he'd fixed it. Would that he'd listened. He shuts his eyes as the fuel catches fire and everything burns.
9.
The moon orbits the Earth once every 27 or so days. It remains there in the sky, distant and impersonate. It rotates as it revolves, the same face glancing down upon us as though it is trying to watch. Each rotation is much the same, taking it in and out of the sun's light. Each rotation steals just a little bit of the Earth's spin, slowing the planet down as it creeps just that little bit further out. Once it was a thing to fear. Once it was a thing to worship. Once it was a thing to conquer. Now it will be something else entirely.
10.
Corroded cables run from the solar panel, through the window to the old desk. Once neat and tidy, it is now covered with scraps. In the centre sits a device, a hodgepodge of old components, scavenged bits, and hasty wiring. Dimly, it flickers to life with the sun each morning, shutting off again as dusk descends. It blasts messages on radio, on internet, on anything it can. It begs for help, for understanding, for just someone to acknowledge its existence.
11.
The earth moans as it breaks and splits. Canyons grow from spiderweb cracks to massive pits, buildings dropping through the ground. For all its bluster, even concrete and steel is subject to gravity. Strength from from buckles as the form does. With a mighty crash, the ground swallows the city whole as though it had never been there at all. The plume of dust trails off into the sky, the seeds of rainstorms to come.
12.
Roots creep through soil like worms, seeking water and nutrients. Where they meet other roots, they tangle and curl around each other. Far above, leaves catch sunlight, eternal and constant sunlight. The roots could not know or care about such things. They nestle deeper into the dirt, digging through the mud until they start to scrape at the walls far below. Concrete prisons and their occupants sigh with relief as their sides finally crack open. Worms crawl through bones and souls finally come to rest.
13.
"Hey," she said.
They looked up, over at her.
"I-" She trailed off suddenly hesitant. "I just, I wanted you to know that I'm in love with you."
Ever so slowly, they smiled wide. She smiled too. It was all going to be okay.