If the World Breaks Down on That Day

Was the world broken after the night I broke up, or had it always been that way? I can't remember it clearly, and I finally don't have the energy to find reasons for it... Things began to appear on the streets that should not continue to move, people were chased, torn apart, and replaced, and order collapsed in an undramatic way. The rules were still running, I just wasn't asked again. They passed me by like a superfluous shadow, and I was left on the safe side, yet still clearly aware of the weight of death—it was still in effect, but not for the time being. I lived but was not chosen to participate. I still eat, walk, turn on the lights and close the door. The automatic door of the convenience store will still open for me. The power is not interrupted. The city seems to be barely maintaining a semblance of normality. And I stand in it, neither a survivor nor a victim, just a person excluded from the rules. This is not a story about the end of the world. This is a record of my position being quietly revoked while the world is still running. As this continued to happen and I just stood there watching, I began to wonder— What is wrong with the world after all? Or am I no longer needed for a long time.