The city once never slept.
Now it doesn’t breathe.

Towers jut like gravestones,
skeletal, off-kilter.
Windows flicker—
not with life,
but like neurons firing their last memories.

Above it, a crimson moon appeared.
Not risen.
Just there.
The omen arrived.
The world paused.

One not-night, the lights went out—
floor by floor,
an exhale that ended everything.

The streets stayed clean.
Traffic lights blinked.
Elevators hummed.
Hollow rhythms.
Soulless.

No one screamed.
No one ran.
They just stopped.
Now the city stands—
not alive, not dead.
Remembering itself.

And above,
the omen watches.

—JON.E.B. | Unremembering