Winding Down

The world is winding down. Everyone is going away. No one left to turn the cranks that turn the wheels. Lights flicker out. One by one they give up the fight. The trains grind to a halt. No passengers to let off. No route to preserve. Memories need no transport. Memories need no lights. And they're all that's left. Perhaps ghosts? But certainly the memories. Close your eyes and they are there. But that is all. Only memories. Memories to wear down the paving, memories to march up and down stairs, memories in the shade between the buildings now no more than monuments to what has passed. And memories cannot turn the cranks, nor can they polish the wheels. So the world pretends to live a while longer. A little while and a little while and a little while. Clinging to the life that could not sustain it. Just a little more and a little more and a little more. Just... Entropy is all. And everyone has gone away. No more cranks turn. No more breaks in the dark. No one, no one left. With no one to see, the world winds down. The world that has long ceased to be.