By Leighton Tanaka, TIWP Student

The end of a civilization among the many galaxies. We stand at the tail end of infinity. When the stars are but a memory, and the sky is nothing but a void of absence. I could not describe its color, for it was not black, but gone. Simply missing were all of the hues of space that we had grown to know. Now we realize that we were truly alone.

That day the planet was quiet. I wondered if all along we had been doomed to fail, if the silence was destined to consume us. As I looked to the empty sky I wondered if everything was truly gone, or perhaps they were all hiding behind the veil of reality.

As I walked the stone highways that winded around the city, I climbed higher still. My footsteps echoed far, loud yet still soundless, I felt as if I was the only one left to hear it, it occurred to me that I may be.
Though the stars were mere bones of what once was, they shone bright upon the dark future of a departed empire. I had not been alive when it was thriving, so I did not miss it, only reminiscing on what could have been.

There had been puddles as still as ice, tattered banners flying in the breeze, obscured lives left abandoned on the streets, left to flee.

I had come to the conclusion that we were not meant to live. I had no desire left as I dropped my belongings off of that roof. I let go of the hope I had carried with me all of that way. I leaned against the wall and sank to the ground, staring off into the horizon.

The city stretched across the land like a weed as it spread. What stared back at me but the lost lives of the innocent and the removed lives of the wicked.

And here I was, the last one, I looked once more into the dead oblivion that had once been my ancestors guide. I did not hope for an answer because I had already reached my answer. I would wait for the cold end of the universe, until the black holes sang their goodbyes and collided. I would not die until I was killed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, for that was all I could say. But I wasn’t sorry, I refused to be sorry.

I would never be forgiven, nor should I ever. It should never be understated the sins I have committed. I should be resented and hated, I should be despised. However, there was no time for that. I deserve to be envied, worshipped even. I will be the last of everything. I will be the final stain in the cosmos’s imperfect records. Even if I am seen as insane.