What wonderful thing didn't start out scary?

I adapt to things quickly, including good things, which I wish I could shut off sometimes.

All my life I have battled the alarm clock, pummeling the snooze button over and over with mounting self-loathing until the shame is finally strong enough to lever me upright.

Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world.

I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.

It’s sad to see them staring wistfully through the window when the door isn’t locked.

I think the world has mostly ended because the cities we wander through are as rotten as we are. Buildings have collapsed. Rusted cars clog the streets. Most glass is shattered and the wind drifting through the hollow high-rises moans like an animal left to die. I don't know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess it's not so important. Once you're arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which road you took.