Contributor: E.S. Wynn

Here I am again, alone.

It always seems to turn out this way. Me and the wide world hanging empty and cold around me. Lot of world out there, lot of it empty, lot of it not. I stick to the high ground– easier to see them coming that way. I know there are others out there, others like me, immune to whatever it is in the water or the food or the dust or the blood and spittle of the fallen, but they never last, never stay for long. I’ve seen so many come and go, so many rising to fall again, leaving only me, here.

Alone.

Again.