In slow motion, the car goes off the side of the road as my hands tighten around her wrists. Eyes dilated, she falls back as the sidewalk dissolves beneath our feet. The need to speak is urgent, but I say it best when I take her back home and push her up against the bedroom door. The wood is cracked, and although light shines through the gaps, outside there are no lights whatsoever. The city is dead, and so are all the towns. There is silence everywhere save for the words she utters as I rip off her dress. We are lovers. Machines. Outsiders running from something we know we can never escape from. Body parts litter the gutters, and as the animals come from the forests that burn throughout the night, they scream their screams as we taste heaven. The cure is in not knowing; it’s in drinking until our gums bleed and shot glasses shatter as they fall between our fingers to the floor. Seconds expire as we smoke wrapped in blankets the morning after. The event horizon visible to the naked eye, it blocks out everything as a car alarm sounds somewhere in the distance. In empty rooms where once there was life, rain gets in through the windows and pools on the floorboards. Leaking through to the kitchen below, we switch off the gas even though it’s winter and the days get so cold. We were warned right from the start, and yet we chose to ignore them. Now we’re the only ones left. Hours spent cast in shadow painting images she doesn’t understand. These days wind down until we exist in one perpetual moment. Black and white daydreams as we hold each other for the last time, I kiss her on the forehead, and then we sleep forever.