The world was transformed.

There were no people anymore, not alive anyway.

Only me, the oceans of bone.

Stacks, piles, mountains.

They covered every inch of the planet, as far as I could see, as long as I traveled.

I stayed away from the cities when I could. They were buried. Towers of ivory blocked out

second, third, fourth-story windows. In places they swallowed entire buildings.

They could swallow me too, I wasn't careful.

I kept to the back roads where the bone piles were closest to earth,

where I could still see the tops of vehicles,

or rows of trees pointed me down paths that

existed long ago.

Highways, towns, farms.

The countryside was desolate, but I never felt alone.

Maybe it was insanity creeping in through my psychic wounds.

Maybe it was the ghost of untold legions populating the space watching me.

The lone survivor.

The outsider in the apocalypse.

Or maybe it was all those eyes hollowed out pairs of darkness with their smiling faces staring

up at me from the ground as I tread over what was left of mankind.

Thousands of the millions, of them, tens of millions, hundreds of millions.

More.

...