Sharing with The Sunday Muse #188 . It's always dark in the mall that died; the seats feel gritty, the windows are blank and all the stores empty. There's one door open back behind the large department store I slip in and walk over the torn, glassy floor. Someone has filmed the life as it left, most people prefer it gone; consumption is always deadly, some moan. But I continue to walk through these laminate halls to remember the books, my friends, the lit windows... It's always dark in the last hallways; the hard seats left empty; I'll rest between starvation and plenty. The benches remain, the walls rot, and ceilings spread stains I close my eyes and wait. This is the first last stop at this station, open since devastation. Theoretically, with Thanksgiving past and a chill weekend to remind us it's no longer a lingering summer/fall combo, we're supposed to have moved on to decorating for Christmas. In the spirit of fiction, let's say that happened. Let...