Opening one's eyes meant being immediately inundated with news. The tireless broadcasts reported the same facts over and over, repeating them like a refrain that had lost all meaning.
The world had suffered an unimaginable cataclysm, the causes of which were inexplicable. Over seventy percent of the earth had become uninhabitable.
Only those living on the surface continued to see the dawn; Those who remained down there found nothing but dead ends, tunnels with no exits, and days without light.
Months, perhaps years, had passed since then.
No one could say anything else.
In a cold and putrid world, only those forged in strength can find their last breath just as the darkness of the water claims them.
And it is in that oblivion, in the silence of the precipice, that chaos changes shape and becomes oxygen.
No one can ever truly leave anything behind.
But someone will be ready to destroy everything he had looked upon for a lifetime.
The world did not die screaming.
It died slowly, like music losing its rhythm.