I was starting to lose all sense of time. I grew tired of counting the sunrises that refused to shine light on my situation. The world was empty, save for me. The absence of humanity allowed Mother Nature to take over the structures they left behind. Nets of greenery covered the buildings, and her attempts to hide the nothingness within were very apparent.

Vines clung to the concrete buildings, refusing to let them crumble. A gentle breeze ruffled the foliage of the dilapidated skyscrappers. Thousands of abandoned cars littered the streets, worn from the elements. The docks at the harbor still had fishing equipment strewn about. Billboards were torn and rusted from the neglect. The water was incredibly still. The quiet was so overbearing that I sometimes had to convince myself that the city just hadn’t awoken yet, and morning rush hour would soon disrupt the tranquility I was enjoying.

A recurring realization would crack my illusion when the breeze whispered its lonely truth. It was the only thing I heard. No cars, no conversations, no electrical hum, no birds, no insects, no crashing water at the port. It was completely derelict and the silence was beating down the walls of my sanity.

One day I awoke to find a vacant world with no explanation. I was determined that I would find someone if I looked hard enough, so I set off to some neighboring states. I took advantage of the unlocked cars that still had keys in the ignition, switching vehicles when I was out of gas. The suburban neighborhoods were the best place to swap, but I always dreaded them. They seemed more vacant somehow. It was unnerving seeing the forgotten toys in the algae covered pools and overgrown yards.

Since no one was around, many things were no longer in use. As guilty as I felt every time I took something, I reminded myself that it was a necessary means of survival. The food I grabbed at the convenience store would’ve expired if I hadn’t eaten it. No one was purchasing the clothes in the abandoned mall, so replacing my ripped jacket was justified. I worried less and less about someone returning to find their stuff missing when I continually came up empty handed on my search.

After several failed expeditions and many more empty buildings, my gut wrenching assumption was confirmed. Every single living thing on the planet was just.. gone. I slumped to the floor, sobs wracking my body. I was now acutely aware of the intense forlorn feeling in my stomach. The exhaustion and despair had finally set in, as had reality. I would never see my friends or family ever again, and I most likely wouldn’t see another person or living creature either.

I desperately hoped that I wasn’t actually awake, that this was just a horrible dream. I held onto that notion for months, especially because I knew a bit about lucid dreaming and some ways to distinguish dreams. I tested every method I remembered. I hypothesized that the only way to wake up was to find solid proof that I was asleep. However, I only dabbled in the subject, so I often found myself discrediting my own knowledge. Being able to read didn’t prove anything, I was just an outlier. My hands were solid in my dream because I just knew they were supposed to be. My tattoos and reflection all looked fine because I could vividly remember them. These things were normal this time because my subconscious decided they were, not because I wasn’t dreaming.

After I finally ran out of excuses to discount the experiment, I had to accept that every test had been a point against my theory. My confidence waned each time my theory was proven wrong. I refused to accept the alternative.

I sat in another eerie, desolate town, ruminating on my journey and my failed theory. Hopeless thoughts swarmed my mind as it fought to suppress the truth. Eventually, I realized I could no longer lie to myself.

I was never going to wake up.