She looked around as she slowly sat up, rubbing her head. Everything looked the same-mostly. Same charred grass, same crumbling buildings, same charred field, same thick,horrible, air. And yet...something was different. She looked up at the dark sky- yes, the moon was still close. Too close.
Where was the sense of presence? Where was the sense of being watched? Where was the sense of life? Horrible life, yes, but still life nonetheless. She slowly stood and walked over to a crumbling building, her bare feet not making a single sound. Not an echo, not a crunch, not even a whisper. She slowly reached out an arm- an arm that looked too white, far too white. The hand in question promptly went through the rusted metal door. The white hand shot back to it's place at its owners side. This was the difference. The owner of the hand was a ghost. A former being. A former being all alone in what used to be life. She walked away from the building. She walked away from everything she thought she knew.