A Walk Till the End

Imagine endless night, and a sleeping world, in which you are the only one awake. You decide to take a walk. It is an imaginary situation, so there are no killers or rapists or drunken drivers waiting out there for you, no kangaroo court to make an example thoroguh you of their twisted, perverted ideologies. Everyone is asleep, save you. you walk past quiet shadowy houses and tall, silent  trees that line the path like sentires. Each house is a microcosm of illusions, a multitude of stories we tell each other in order to breathe. Each tree is a whisper from the Yggdrasil.
Slumbering dogs raise their heads as you pass, sniff the air with eyes unseeing, and then return to their canine dreams. And then you note the slippery edges of the strange light of night that settles like a blanket upon the soul of the world and the only things that matter are you and the contours of the road that stretches endlessly, emptily before you. And so you keep walking through the years and eons of night, never wearing out, for this is a dream where time is circular and every beginning is a constant end.
And one day, when it is still night, you arrive at the end of the world. You watch the falling stars dissipate in the smoke of the mushroom cloud, you see the remains of the ancient abandoned civilizations break and fall into the chasm where no one will ever obliterate them again. You wonder if the world has woken up yet.
Your last thoughts, as you close your eyes are of the glorios colours of the supernova.

P.S: I have no idea why I wrote this.

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