Daydreams of a Post-Human World

I tend to daydream when I ride SkyTrain. I gaze out over the landscape and imagine I’m flying across a post-human world. I’m not the last woman alive because I’m not alive. I’m a wisp of a living memory gazing out through imaginary eyes in the sky.

The elevation of the SkyTrain shows the city in a different way. Peaking down inside her nooks; behind the roads and sidewalks.

The people fade away and the buildings crumble. Vegetation climbs upwards to reclaim the old derelict buildings; growing in the silence left after the clatter of civilization.

Rusted hulks of cars and trucks dot the landscape as my memory drifts along. Gleams of light flash off broken windows, waiting to be taken into the leafy embrace of ivy and morning glory.

Through the quiet, my memory listens to the soft rustling and stretching of lush green. Hungry to wipe the memory of humanity’s relics away from sight, the growth gently crackles with a different kind of life. A peaceful life. A quiet life. A life not bound by the constraints of needless consumption.

The quiet lulls my memory; soothes my eyes.

Until someone bashes their bag into the side of my head and I’m sharply stabbed back into reality.

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