Change My Atmosphere

     I sit on the roof of an eight story office building looking over the streets of the big NYC. On an ordinary night, cars would be on the road, honking and quarreling in their own way. People would be standing on the sidewalks, signalling taxis or chatting with a friend or  trying to drown out the world altogether. I used to do this. I would walk these streets with ear buds in, lost in the world of music. I was fifteen then, young enough to still wonder about the world, old enough to be annoyed with the people in it. Now, I kinda wished I'd payed more attention to it.
     Last year, around June, the disease broke out. At first, it only affected adults and seemed to spread slowly, so no one worried about it much. Then the children became infected, and they dropped like bombs. The strongest lived maybe a month or two. Months were spent on finding a cure, and even in the end, when one was found, there wasn't enough for everyone. The adults looked to the teenagers, those who were still young but mature, able to, perhaps, save our planet. A good number of teens around the world took the antidote, and each had to watch their families suffer while they stood by, unaffected. This is what happened to me. I tried, once again, to go into my little world, but that didn't work at the time.
     Now, there's just us. Some have begun to start plantations and such, trying to rebuild Earth. Me? I don't care, much, anymore. What affect would I have on this new universe? No one has asked me for help. No one has even spoken to me. My friends are gone. They were already infected when the cure was found. I watched them leave, too.
I don't see why anything matters anymore.
      The song I'm listening to ends, and another soon starts up after it.
      "This city never sleeps but it sure knows how to sleep tonight."
   "You got that right," I say softly, my voice being carried with a gust of wind. I stare down into the streets, where tornadoes of paper and trash build and fall. A couple kids walk among the twisters, weaving their way around cars and garbage cans and mailboxes. I watch them walk away, and for a nanosecond think about calling down to them. I don't, and instead look off to my right, where the sun is slowly dipping behind a wall of skyscrapers. Of all the many changes; the grass and plants dying, the colors turning to grey, the lack of happiness and joy and humanity, the sun stays the same. Always.