Rebecca Weaver

The Last Watcher

Beyond the garbage hugging the gutters and preventing water from entering the storm drains, and the telephone poles plastered with flyers in various states of disintegration, there stood an imposing concrete structure bridging the wide deserted city street. At the base of the cracked footing there was a small forgotten shrine where thin stubs of candles had long since burnt out and flower petals, once fresh with dew, had withered and blown away with the wind. One forlorn teddy bear with a stained and frayed bow guarded the once lovingly tended child's memorial. Signs from a world before the big bang.