A/N - Dedicated to TheShinyGlaceon, Wildahawk (Or GalaxyLion, don't know if you changed it here) Jinsei no Owari and Dragon. Thanks for everything :3

Yep, this took me way too long to do. Three months, one rewrite, two editing runs through, to be exact. And what do I have to show for it? A short story with exactly 4K words. (Even check it!). Despite the load of time it took to write this, I can easily say that I've improved from Memories to Reminisce. No, I'm not very good yet, but I'm learning, eh? Enjoy ^^

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   Everything sounded the same, because it all meant the same thing. The days of security and peace were long gone, because every sound meant some form of danger. Even though the world around him threatened to bring him death, a cacophony of gunfire would only be tuned out by his mind in a matter of seconds, and he would think nothing else of it.

Once-populated streets had been destroyed to nothing more than a collection of scattered stones. Every single home had been ransacked and looted for all they had been worth, and piles of shattered glass on the floors of shops served as a testament to the insanity of what humans had become.

Many old trees--with a handful of new trees--had managed to grow in the aftermath of all of the destruction, even without humans there to care for them. Nature was a mysteriously beautiful thing, he thought. Humans had completely destroyed the earth, but when they left, it had found a way to fix itself. In an odd way, it was like humans too. It wouldn't give up until absolutely everything is lost.

He stared out of the window of his makeshift home—in reality, it was nothing more than a tent with metal plates. The sun shone over the destroyed landscape, and brought much-needed light to the neglected and destroyed planet. Maybe it was proof that the universe didn't depend humans to survive, because the sun was still shining, and the birds were still chirping their morning songs.

More gunshots echoed in the distance, and made him feel even more hopeless. Human nature had always revolved around greed and power. That trait was programmed into the minds of every human, and would only truly be gone when humanity finally does.

It had surprised him how the destruction of so many humans only tore apart humanity even more, rather than uniting the surviving remnants of the dying species.

Ivy had found a way to grow alongside many of the stone walls of the city's numerous buildings, slowly creeping along as it tore apart the foundation of the skyscrapers and malls. Many lavish hotels and clubs had only survived a couple years before vegetation found a way to completely overtake it. A lush blanket of vegetation with every shade of green—coupled with polychromatic blossoms—covered the city. It was proof that even a human habitat could become one for plants.

The sun had beat down wave after wave of heat for the whole day, and had been slowly getting hotter with every day that passed since the disaster. Maybe the sun was trying to slowly kill the rest of the survivors, and the heat was its way of doing so. Agonizing heat, until either dehydration or a lethal heat stroke set in and finished the job.

He glanced over at his calendar, which was the only thing reminding him that there had once been a system for keeping track of days. Marks made from charcoal had marked the days since everything fell apart, and it gave him some sort of sadistic confidence, knowing that he had managed to survive longer than many other survivors.

As he moved around his tent, a jolt of pain like lightning shot through his arm, and he flinched at the sudden pain. As the days had passed, the time between the spikes of pain had slowly reduced, and they came more often and in more severe magnitudes. His memory of what he had tried to do to end up with a dysfunctional arm flashed in his mind, and he instantly regretted his careless action again. He brushed away the memory, and tried to focus on what he was going to do.

A single vase held a rose in water, and the vibrant colors of the rose seemed to suck all the color out of all the other monochromatic objects around it. It was finally the time for him to take it out of the container where it had lain unused and waiting.

The gunfire had seemed to have died down, which was both calming and unsettling, both at once. He slowly pulled the rose out of the vase, and took careful measure not to accidentally graze his finger on one of the thorns that dotted the sides of its stem. After he took a long look at the lone flower, he set it down carefully in a clear, rectangular container, and sealed it as soon as he was contempt with the placement. Putting away the container, he grabbed a rusty revolver gathering dust on his desk.

Six rounds sat neatly in the cylinder of the revolver, and he knew that he wouldn't need any more. Extra bullets were scattered among the mess of papers on the table, but he had already decided early on not to bring more.

As he clicked the case with the rose closed, another gunshot resonated, but time, it was much closer to his home. Out of pure impulse, he closed his grip around his own revolver. His senses were heightened, and he was ready to react to the softest sound.

He heard nothing besides the faint roar of wind, which only made him more paranoid. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and he was ready to shoot at the first thing to alert him. His head was finally clear, which was a miracle, considering the fact that his mind was normally plagued with paranoia.

Just survive, he told himself, no matter what the cost.

The still silence was broken by the sound of a footstep, barely outside of his home. It would have been impossible to hear to a normal person, but his hearing had already been finely tuned to pick up the faintest sounds.

Holding his breath, he aimed his revolver at the source of the noise. With both hands on the grip, he quietly cocked back the hammer. He aligned the sights to where he heard the sound outside of his tent, and he gave the trigger a firm squeeze and braced himself for the kick.

Instantaneously, the bullet fired out and penetrated the frail tent wall. The unmistakable crack of metal shattering bone filled his ears, and he flinched at what he had done.

Slowly, he brought his revolver down to his legs. As quietly as he could, he slowly walked over to the exit of his tent, while he was still gripping his gun. He picked up the rose in its container, and put the strap of the container around his shoulder to secure it to his back.

With a deep breath, he unlocked the scrap metal door, and slowly pushed the rusty door open. The sun surprised him with a barrage of light, and he was almost blinded for a split second. He impulsively blinked, to try to adjust his eyes to the sudden spike in light. After so many years spent living under the dim glow of candlelight, it was hard for him to remember that an even more intense light existed outside of his own home.

With the light of sun came the scent of the wild. Smells of the numerous wildflowers littering the city streets filled his nostrils, and the wind brought a cool, crisp breeze. A faint memory tried to surface itself, but he pushed it down. There was no need for him to reminisce on what life was like before everything fell apart. That time was long gone.

His first instinct was to find what or whoever he had shot, but decided against it in the interest of his own safety. He silently hoped that whatever he had shot wouldn't die too painfully. Everyone had already suffered enough since it all happened.

As he quietly kept walking, he had a sudden realization. The past years had normally only been spent growing his own food in a room under his small tent, which had consequently led to less and less time spent spent outside. The only times he had emerged from his tent and into the outside world was to find more materials for his survival.

He heard more bullets discharged deep within the city, but he willed himself to not stall. There was no point in fighting if he could avoid it, because life was too fragile. He had already seen many good people die, simply because their pride willed them to fight at the first gunshot. In the wasteland, the best plan was often to simply run away.

The remnants of roads were cracked, and vegetation grew in every crack that it could find. Makeshift barricades created from sandbags dotted the highway, and bullets were scattered around them. It was ironic how the city that promised a safe haven had become the final resting place for so many people.

Bodies upon bodies of those who had lost their lives laid piled up in the city. They were all in various stages of decay, slowly turning into unrecognizable creatures, and becoming food for whatever chose to feast on human flesh. He tried to push another memory away, but that one forced itself into his mind. In a flash of pain, he stumbled, and collapsed onto a rotting bench as the memory took over his thoughts.

He was back in the days during the destruction. Screams of others in various levels of agony filled the air. He tried to cover his ears, but it had no effect. Gunshots rang above every other noise, and almost became a constant ticking sound, just like a metronome.

In only a matter of minutes, the once-peaceful city street became a madhouse. Everyone was trying to avoid any contact with all water, because it was no longer safe in the city.

To his right, she ran alongside him through all the chaos. Due to some impulsive thought, he took her hand and found familiar comfort in it. Around them, more and more people died, right in front of their eyes. Their hopeless screams crying out for help were either left ignored, or answered with a bullet.

Tears formed themselves behind his eyes, but he did his best to keep them from finding their way out. He had to stay strong, because giving up would've costed his life. In a world of hell, only the strong survived.

The sun was still shining, the birds were still singing, and the wind was still blowing, all while humans were being destroyed and killed one by one. It was too hopeless.

In a jolt, his mind reverted back to reality. He realized just how much it hurt him to think about the past, and he did his best to push the memory out of his mind, and maybe, just maybe, forget. But it was useless to try.

Fighting back tears, he forced himself to just keep going, because there was no point to go back to his home. One foot in front of the other he told himself, it's not too far away. But his own thoughts did nothing to reassure him.

The air around him was already starting to get colder, and with the cold came the night. But with the night came the raiders. Ravage, merciless, pitiless shells of what once were humans. Their only goal was to survive, and they did anything they could to accomplish that goal.

He paused to clear his mind, and steadied himself against a bent light pole. It had been a while since the pole was maintained, and the rust on it was visible evidence of that. The mental pain of remembering was tearing at him, so he forced himself to take a deep breath. As he exhaled, his thoughts started to settle down like dust on a wooden shelf.

He willed himself to keep going on, even though he knew that his tainted mind would still be his, no matter what he tried to do. There was nothing that he wanted to do, except walk away. Away from his destroyed home, away from his painful excuse of a life, away from everything.

But he knew that it wasn't that simple, because it never was. It wouldn't have been right to throw away the second chance that he had been given. It was a chance to live, when everyone else around him was gone. As he went on, he couldn't take his mind away from his cursed gift. To him, death felt like it would have been better than a life without everyone else. A life without his family. A life without his friends.

A life without her.

Life would go on for him, but he knew in his heart that the feeling of emptiness made by her death would never really be filled again. Every single day to him was becoming repetitive, as it all felt the same. In addition, his hopeless shot at a cure was nothing more than him experimenting with different combinations of chemicals in hope that something—anything—would work. But even after the endless hours he spent just trying to find a cure, he knew that he couldn't give up.

He did his best to clear his mind, and push his dark thoughts back into the crevasses that they had been formed in. It made them leave, but he knew that they would come back. They always did.

Cars had been stacked on each other, and many were infested with bursts of plant growth. It was all too obvious that many of the destroyed vehicles would never be usable again, especially without the fuel and oil necessary to run it.

All around him were scorched buildings, even though he was in the heart of the ghost city, far away from any flammable vegetation. The steel skeletons of the former buildings and skyscrapers sat mangled and shriveled, as even they were not powerful enough to withstand the harsh attacks of nature.

He shivered when he remembered the first things that happened when everything fell apart. Generators everywhere shut off, and the nights reverted back to an abyss of black, where the only light came from the heavens in the form of dull starlight and moonlight.

The sun loomed above everything else, above the almost-perished human race, above the remains of a once glorious city, above the wasteland where survival is the one and only goal. The effect of the sun was the only thing that hadn't changed, when everything else couldn't look any more different.

With his destination set, he let his mind drift into the better parts of his past. A past where a happy life truly did exist, without the risk of losing it the next day. He let his body keep going on autopilot, but his mind was a million miles away as he reminisced.

It was an autumn morning. And by chance, it was one of those days when the breeze didn't carry the biting cold of the coming months, but rather the crisp cold that normally wound its way into the spring months.

The leaves were yet to lose their color, although it was already been a month into the season. It looked so unnatural that it looked like it belonged in a dream.

When he was younger, he had been a vivid dreamer. His mind had been filled with hopes for the future, and visions of art that could only escape his mind through the gentle strokes of a paintbrush.

That one particular morning had been spent sketching beside his bedroom window, and he had positioned himself to let the sunlight shine right on his notebook. Gently drawn curls, spirals, circles and lines slowly but surely took the shape of a bird.

Beside him was his desk, which contained nothing but an old picture and his laptop. The laptop was keeping open a window of an unfinished school report, one that had been due months ago.

A soft thud had come from outside his door, and he quickly shoved his sketchbook underneath his pillow. His dad barged into his room, pushing the door open and glaring at him as if he had done something wrong, but he knew that he hadn't done anything wrong.

But that had never mattered to his father. The slightest suspicions could turn into more pain for him, due to his father's paranoid and shattered mind. He had never really learned what happened to his father, but he only knew that his father had endured more pain from the war than he ever showed.

His father had lost his empathy, his kindness, and his patience, which were the key things that had once made him human. It hadn't taken long before his mother lost those too.

It had been unfortunate that he hadn't been able to fix them.

A drop of rain fell on his arm, and brought him back into reality. It had never stopped raining most of the humans lost their lives. In fact, there wasn't much that had changed.

It was interesting to see that in the end, all humans had ever done was destroy the earth. They had come in, relied on the earth's gentle hospitality to survive, but destroyed it out of greed as soon as they could. And in the end, they destroyed themselves.

Another scattering of raindrops met the ground. They fell from the grey sky, and soon filled the air as more and more joined the crowd. The sound of them hitting the cracked pavement was almost music to his ears. It was a reminder of the days where all it had taken was a smile and some sweets to have a good day. Those days almost felt like a dream that was long gone.

The drops were falling even faster, and he consequently sped up his pace. Like the bullets that had once rained down upon the rioting mobs of the Contaminated, the water was falling from the sky in a torrential storm. Just the thought of the suffering that the Contaminated had to endure made him seethe with anger all over again.

Anyone tagged with the Contamination would be tracked down, and in the end, lose their life to a bullet of the Purifiers. No remorse, no regrets, no mercy. The Purifiers had just been a fancy word for the assassins created out of The Guide's paranoia. For months, these killings had gone on. Killing anyone with a chance of developing the Contamination had become a goal of The Guide and his followers. A goal that had resulted in the most innocent deaths of any war.

The months leading up to the fall of society had been the bloodiest of all of them. In those final months, The Guide had ordered the Purifiers to kill anyone who had any contact with a Contaminated, in spite of the fact that it couldn't spread from human to human.

The public's trust in The Guide had been their downfall.

He sighed as he thought about it, and more rain splashed down on him. His clothes had already gotten drenched, but it was almost like a gift to him. He hadn't gotten many opportunities to wash himself in the fight for survival, so getting one naturally was as good as a gift as a secure home.

In front of him stood a cemetery. It was nothing more than a makeshift scattering of stones that marked the burial place of many of the people who died from the Contamination and its destructive effects.

He let his troubles wash away with the thundering rain, letting them slide out of his mind and into the ground like the millions of drops of water falling around him.

There was so much that he wished was different. Why did it fall apart, he cried out in his mind, when I finally found the happiness I spent so long looking for.

For a moment, he stopped caring about everything. The pouring rain on the dead city, the screams of pain of everyone who lost their lives before him, and every tear he had shed when she lost her own life and crossed over into the cold grasp of death.

But moments like those had never lasted forever for him.

He felt all his emotions, and all his thoughts, rush back into his mind. They were the last thing he wanted, and felt so heavy that they threatened to make him collapse on the burial grounds.

Through the rain, everything else was eerily silent, as if there was nothing left in the world but him. With everything that had happened, he only wished that he could find a place to be alone, where only his thoughts and memories were left to keep him company.

With a desperate surge of emotion, he ran through the cemetery. He clumsily wove his way through the maze of tomestones and long-wilted flowers, running through a path he had been on so many times before that it almost felt like a home to him.

In his delirious haze, he accidentally collided with many of the graves in his path, but that did nothing to stop him. His backpack violently shook through all his reckless running, and threatened to shatter the precious treasure inside.

He almost felt it when he stopped at his destination. In response, he abruptly stopped, almost breathless. It was only a simple stone, but it was one that he had created. Even though it was nothing more than a rigid semicircle of stone with a dove chiseled into its skin, it held more meaning to him than every other grave in the sea of tombstones.

It was the only thing he could have done for her. A tombstone with her favorite animal on it, so that he could just give her one final gift, even though she had lost her life.

Rain splashed down on the tombstone, sliding down along the side until it greeted the ground. Grass unevenly grew around it, as it still hadn't fully recovered from him tearing it up and laying her body to rest within its cold confines.

Taking care not to break the container inside his backpack, he slowly went from a standing position and to a kneeling one, as if he was praying that he would just see her one more time. But he knew that very well that he never would see her again, no matter how was willing to sacrifice his own life.

He closed his eyes, and just for a moment, let himself reminisce on the times long gone. The days when he had spent hours at her house, where they had played the same games, read the same books, and laughed at the same jokes.

In his heart, he knew that he would never relive those days, nor feel those emotions again, but the fragments of memories and the remainders of his emotions were the things that had kept him from giving up. They were the little flickers of hope in the abyss of darkness.

The rain thundered around him, but the noise seemed so distant at that moment. It was just him and her, even if it was just him reliving his happiest memories with her.

He gently set down the rose in the pouring rain, and put it just on top of her tombstone. In the darkened sky, he held his breath as he stared at the flower, funneling every last prayer and thought into that one object.

I-I hope... that you're somewhere better...

In a world without pain, a world without suffering...

One world where you can just be happy, just smile, and feel joy again. God knows we didn't feel any of those in the last months while you were still with me.

And I hope, I truly hope, that you finally find peace

Even if it is without me.

Releasing his tension, he quietly stood up. The rain washed his tears away, and he tried to harden his heart again, and clear the rest of the pain away.

Next year, he thought quietly, I'll see you again. Wait for me.

Finally, he turned his back and walked away.