The sun will set soon, you say to me as you shield your face from the glaring sky. We know we won't make it til morning, the ground beneath us is already trembling and the dust that had settled over all the bodies is gently tossed up into the air.
We know we won't make it til morning so we try and make the most of our final hours but in the end and in the face of our certain death we find ourselves sitting in silence. Everything we want to say seems trivial and trying to crack a joke just feels like swallowing needles.
We know we won't make it til morning so we watch the sun settle one last time as the trembling ground splits open, bodies falling into the same starving chasms that will soon swallow us down too. The world blurs and it takes me a few minutes to realise that I'm crying.
But it's okay - so are you.
We know we won't make it til morning but we still hold hands and hope we meet again somehow.
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