Signs of life
I sat at the edge of the bare mattress - the sheets peeling off with the recent neglect. Out of the window, I saw the gray clouds swirl into infinity as the wind rattled the twigs of the dying trees. The sky seemed to be mourning. Death. Death was all I could think about, and how everything around me was coming to a halt. How the signs of life in the distance were whimpering - desperately trying to hold on to life. I was small: smaller than I have ever felt before. The massive vacuum that we float in, it seems me as perhaps small than a speck of dust. Nature’s fury could erase my existence, and there would soon be a time where no other person would remember that I did exist. So now I sit here, and wonder: how much of my life do I actually control? How much of your life do you actually control?