You may not recognise it, but this is Earth.
All light is dark, so no colour can separate from the sky or illuminate the vibrant nature of what remains of the world.
Even I look black and white when I stare at my reflection in this still too unusual to me, but still natural, light.
I live by a lake big enough to be a sea, its pitch black but the furthest distance half's its gradient distinctly into a light grey reflection of the empty sky that has the same tone. I feel most at ease knowing that around me there is little to see, little to make sense of as all shilohettes overlap with one another, because at least there is this anticipation that someone conscious and living will easily make itself known by breaking through the darkness of my surroundings.
It's always the same time of day. I'm not sure if it's day or night, but I know that the sky doesn't change.
Beyond the sea, there is a vaste flatland. I think there must've be a reason with why I began in this new world in a location with such unique terrain, it must be for helping me with this anticipation I feel, this hope I hold onto as I don't stop watching for something to change.
I have seen some changes. There are floating symbols that seem to behave and and live as if they're creatures, all looking the same that has their depiction best described as agro-gothic crosses.
Ever since I woke up here, I haven't had the need to eat or drink or sleep or keep warm or even change my posture.
Whatever is happening here, it's as if time didn't just stand still, it ended, a long time ago.
My memories of how Earth was has slowly become hazy to me. It's nothing new, I experienced it even back then while the world was still alive that my memories of things would slowly become irrelevant as I continued on living with changing circumstances, but now that nothing is changing and despite that I still continue to forget the details of my past, it is a little scary I cannot deny.
I attempted to make a fire once, to see the glow of a colour.
I don't know what's up with the atmosphere, but it won't let me make it anymore.
What's so special about oxygen that it makes fire. Aren't there other combustible elements?
I don't want to get lost, so I tether myself with a rope to my house by the sea, and make my way down hill with a stick to poke around to feel the elevation. The dark light seems to work more like a reflection or a fog, it changes depending on my point of reference.
As I make it passed the first zone where the terrain obscures my vision to the beach, I see the illumination of the light grey sand.
I hold onto my glass jar in my pocket as if it were my lifeline, but in reality I've just grown attached to all the things that could be lost to me forever, while I am trapped in forever.
I finally reach the beach, and fill the glass jar with the black liquid, hoping to somehow separate the oxygen from the water molecules if this sea really is made up of water.
How would I even go about separating these elements? I'm not a scientist, the internet and electricity no longer exist, fire can't be made for as long as there isn't oxygen in the atmosphere I assume while I live within a body that doesn't seem to be affected by physical conditions, so I can't even explore or read a book.
I may not need to survive, but my approach to increasing my freedom to a properly lively hood is still as mortal as ever.
I have all the time in the world, so I guess I'll get there eventually.