I scratch the stubble upon my chin and it's all I can do not tothink about the unnatural quiet of a once bustling metropolis. There isno pollution, no...technological hubbub, not a jot of smoke or a line ofjet trails upon the sky. The sun is setting on an Eden from which man hasbeen all but expelled. Dwelling upon things that cannot be changed is worse than changing thingsthat should not be dwelt. Profound no? Not even close, but its probablythe last semi-cogent metaphor this floating dirtball. "Mira, wake up," mama said."Oh mama, is it morning already?" I asked yawning."Where is Amit?" mama asked."Isn't he in his bed?" I said.Just then Amit came out of the bathroom. "Mama, what are you doing here so late?" he asked getting into his bed."I heard someone scream and came to see everything is alright," mama said."A scream it must be Mira," Amit laughed, "I ignore her screams now." Does she scream often?" mama enquired."Whenever she has a scary dream," Amit said, "At first I got worried. More

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