The morning after

The world. World, how could those five words cover so much ground? For I've lived, for I've died, but in the end, an eery, dark cloak shall cover our consciousness, ensuring that what once living has lost the one precious thing that distinguished it from the many other heaps of molecules.

It turned, a yellow substance exiting my mouth, ensuring that I fell back, but I feel a firm hand behind me. I snort, I breath, I try to at the least. Yet every attempt is deemed not enough, for I feel my eyes searching for something it knows, but my brain deactivating, as the sense of "what could" was replaced with "was". Searching in my pockets, I slowly took my phone, wiggling left and right, trying to disappear, as shame filled my heart ever more. "Come get me, please.", I texted. I saw a car arriving, and I walked toward, as a duck foot by foot, trying to find its balance. Greeting the man, I opened the door, and I sat myself. A darkness as I had never known unfolded, leaving only some memories behind, the memories of stumbling forward, vomiting hither and thither, the impossibility of breathing and the wish, the dear wish that it could be over as soon as possible, either definite or temporary.

The next morning, it was about the hour when nothing good ever happens, just at that moment I woke up, unable to move and a heavy weight crushing my breath ever once in while. I tried to roll over, but nauseau attacked, and ensured that I could only close my eyes, to be once more on my own, in the darkness, soaked in my own grief, with only the faint remembrance of what led to this.