It’s lonely here. The city blocks are overgrown with vines and I spend my existence running: from some unknown force or from some rabid creature, it changes day to day. The buildings are where I’ve found myself, trained myself to jump from roof to roof so they can’t catch me. But food is scarce. “I’ve got tins in.” Even the tins are off. Food grows in my top floor flats: bananas sit in a greenhouse in the corner of my room and potatoes sit in the roof garden: my diet for the last 1200 years.

Suddenly the sky is a bright blue flash, filtering through my blinds to a dull colour, but I notice nonetheless and peer around my window. A large hand clears the clouds from the sky and a booming voice shouts my name.

“Don’t you think it’s time you came home?”
“Home? Is there a home with no company?”
“Your time is long overdue, young one. Living forever isn’t so peaceful. Come home.”
A large finger smashed a window and I felt obliged to touch it and as I did so the life drained from me and I knew I was finally ‘home’.

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