It was here, he is sure of that because he is always sure of everything. He sighs indifferent. It looked much different long ago. Now it was brown and fossilized by the radiation hitting it from space.
It was here on this small beach, so long ago it doesn’t matter. They were doing the impossible; living on a speeding hunk of rock. Existing within the chaos of the universe.
Basking in the impossibility of ole Sol.
He was what he was, and she, a beautiful human in the prime of her life. So much potential.
He wants to remember her like that, not the woman she became at the end, desperate for the sun to return, willing to do anything, including sacrifice herself.
He realizes too late he is cascading from his fantasy of warmth into thinking about the hell the world became. He longed to leave the cold of this existence, if just for a moment of fantasy. It’s all he has left and this beach was host to his favorite memory. On this beach warming up from cold ocean water. Crackling driftwood fire. Fresh scallops roasting on forks. Naked feet buried in hot sand. A matching 98.6 and beating heart pressed against him. He wills his skin to remember the golden rays caressing him, the radiating glow. He felt it for weeks after, sliding through a deeply frigid New York Winter like a warm knife in butter till Spring.
And then the sun died.
Eighteen minutes after the event, March 25, 2345, the population in the Western hemisphere got to witness the poof, as history called it before he became the only one to remember anything at all.
The result of the poof; a small orange dot in an always star-strewn sky.
The only warmth; the core of a planet no longer geologically active.
But that eventually faded also.
Of course, people had ideas, wrote books, lobbied, preached, ran for political office on platforms built on deep-rooted logical-scientific-spiritual-cultural ideas, all geared to doing what should be done.
The right thing.
But in the end, it didn’t matter, because there was no right thing. Life was a true winless scenario. Death inevitable and humans forced to lie down and accept whatever came next. Because in reality, the facts scientists thought they had on the universe were not that, but simply fantasy and speculation.
Fussion, an idea nowhere complex enough to describe how things actually work.
But none of that matters now. It’s all gone. The mystery of what was will always be, and what remains is a husk, an utter useless husk.
He kicks dust that may have once been sand knowing he’s a husk as well, but numb to it after all this time. Can there be time without the sun? There is so little of anything else left. No seasons. No man in the moon smiling down from above.
No, he long ago crashed into the Pacific, boiling away the last of the planet’s water and ending all weather.
There were no humans left alive then to see old Luna’s swan dive. Only he.
The mud huts humans built into the clouds, corroded back to the dust from which they came, a long time before this.
And history forgets.
But he can’t
And here he was at the end of it all- hopelessly wandering.
Even the question of why a pointless endeavor.
He, possibly the last living thing in this galaxy.
Maybe the universe.
At least, he decides, turning from where the sun once set, I have my health.
And he takes another step and another on his journey into eternity knowing he’ll eventually come back to this beach again, he always does.