Poop

The city curves above Kaleen as she walks to her grave. It forms a perfect line across the sky until it meets the horizon in front of, and behind her, defining her view. She can see the headlights as they come down toward her along the street, their light curving as they travel. Her hands are held to her sides by serious looking men in flat caps but she walks on her own terms, taking in as much as she can on her final walk.

The purple neon drains into the ground from the signs that line the street, advertising used clothes and colourless noodles. The pavement cracks under her feet, concrete slabs working lines in the light, but Kaleen keeps carrying on, walking with the men... the men are dead before me.

Kaleen feels their hands leave her arms, crumble to dust and she walks onward to freedom, and the grave..