Everything around her was false, pretend, an illusion of wellness. A few days ago, she had known who she was and what she represented; now she had no idea what was happening from one moment to the next, a leaf adrift in a thunderstorm, unable to course correct. The knowledge of mankind’s irrelevance in the future was a sickness inside, her body twisted by the strain. Nausea rose, and she vomited onto the perfect lawn. It drained away in moments; a fly crawled over the leaf, disease among the perfection.