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Summary
I always questioned my mortality. Not in a weird way or anything, just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine.
It’s always at the worst times too, or at least what I think as the worst times. When the sun fades far in the distance, the melting heat simmering down to a deathly chill across the dried ground. When the starved dogs came out the woods, burned strained bodies lugging against the cracked ground. Digging only to feed on the dried husks of creatures unlucky enough to have been out in the direct sunlight during the day.
Sometimes I wonder if I should go outside during the day, even just to feel the dry air on my skin once again.