"How then?"

Prepared with love.

Amadeus had little going on for himself. I'm not much of a man, it's the sort of things he kept repeating in front of the mirror. Not that he minded, some people were meant to stay in the background and never become a main character. Amadeus had that sort of stoic fatalism to help him going through the day. If not me, then somebody else gets to stand in the light, and I'm happy for them.

"I expect more from you," she would say. She, Amadeus' boss at work.

The hardest part was the lack of purpose. If he had to remain on the sidelines, then at least someone should tell him how a sideline character keeps himself occupied. The routine of work, sleep and loneliness didn't cut it, and at 40, Amadeus' stoicism had trouble withholding the assault of a budding mid-life crisis.

And then the voice made itself know. Maybe it was always there, waiting. Or he had been lucky. Or a myriad of other possibilities, the voice didn't specify, and Amadeus didn't ask. Their conversations were few, but they gave Amadeus what he had been longing for: a purpose.

Rare meat. No, raw meat, it would sometimes say.

An ephemeral whim, perhaps. But an original objective still. So Amadeus put the dead cat in the center of a crudely carved offering bowl. Nothing happened.

Until he watched elsewhere.

And the corpse was gone. He felt disappointed to not see the body disappear.

Dreadfully sorry, said the voice, reality-breaching happenings have a tendency to break human's sanity beyond any hope of repairing.

"And a permanent voice in my head doesn't?"

If you think you're sane, you might want to look into the mirror.

Amadeus looked and saw himself. That's the problem with sane and insane, it doesn't always show on the outside.

"I expect more from you," of course, a mysterious voice in his head didn't absolve Amadeus from working to pay the bills.

It liked Pork, marinated duck and loathed chicken. More than all of this though, it adored the love Amadeus put into his cooking. It loved the effort and dedication he went through to serve proper meals. And the voice loved him back in turn.

"I expect more from you," it was the last time Amadeus heard the boss' words, as he held her high by the throat with a strength beyond any definition of sane, her feet dangling above the floor, her eyes turning to fog and life leaving her.

Now that's a treat!

Everyone suspected him, but he was never bothered. Nobody found the body.

Amadeus was a murderer now, with only his conscience to judge him. A conscience dimmed by exhilaration.

He felt like a man.

I think you and I can come to an agreement.

"That, we do."

The days had a shine to them now. No judge, no jury, only the executioner. Although, there was a slight judging involved. Here stood a blond fellow, tall, muscular, so terribly successful in love, in sports, at life. But he was nice, so Amadeus let him be.

Here was another with dark hair, even larger, with a brutish look on his face. And Amadeus got to know him, silently. Without words, he learned.

We rarely talk lately. Then again, maybe I was never there at all.

And when Amadeus learned what an asshole he was looking at, it wasn't long until the brute's two feet were dangling above the ground, as his throat was crushed.

Amadeus was content staying in the background. But he was very picky about who got to be a main character.

I died in the middle of the ocean.

I can't remember why I was alone, or what I was doing all the way out there. All I remember was the swirling waves, the tempest raging above the surface, the lightning flashes filtering through the water.

Drowning was a rather beautiful way to die, if I'm honest. I was terrified, of course, and I tried to break the surface several times, but once my muscles had given up, and the tension had released from my body, I found myself appreciating the majesty of it all as the world faded to black.

Coming back, however. That is not fun, don't let anyone tell you any different.

I feel sun on my skin, and a strange tingling sensation that starts in my core and travels to my limbs, to my head and my fingers and my toes. I lurch upwards, gasping for air, feeling the oppressive ocean on my lungs.

"Relax, young human. You are fine."

I blink, the light too sharp for my eyes. I squint to the figure at my side. As my eyes adjust to the light, I see that the figure is wearing a long robe and clutching a staff at his side. He seems to be wearing something on his head, as I see two little lumps on the top. He is large, and I rub my eyes out for a final time.

And I see a bear's face peering into my own.

I yelp, flinching backwards, and end up falling off the table I was perched on. I land in a crumpled heap and let out a groan.

The bear thing comes around and reaches out a massive paw, tutting. "I know my eye is a bit disconcerting but there's really no need to be so rude, young man!" he says.

I stare at his paw, at the claws as long as my fingers, the calloused, worn pads. And stare a bit more.

"Young man? Don't you want to get off the floor?" I look up, up, up, and see that the bear is wearing spectacles, and one eye is droopy and red. I stifle a delirious giggle and take his paw hesitantly, looking around.

We're in some sort of town square, it seems. What I thought was a table was an altar, made of a fine marble and looking centuries old.

Buildings surrounded us on all sides. They weren't the skyscrapers of the city, but they weren't little, either. It reminded me of pictures in the old history books. There was a road, and strange-looking cars driving by. But what caught my attention was the crowd.

A crowd of animals on their back legs, just like the bear. I saw a whole menagerie of animals, pushing and shoving each other, trying to see past the blockade of police. As an officer barked an order, I saw that they, too, were animals, dogs and leopards and horses and every creature imaginable.

Suddenly, someone cried out, and the police barricade on one side breaks. Animal-people come rushing towards us, shouting various questions. The bear mage thing puts up a shield around us with a simple tap of his staff, and I watch in awe as the people flock around us, held back by the invisible barricade.

"Excuse me! Hi, I'm from Fox News," a pretty red fox in a dress says, waving her notebook at me. A cat holds a camera angled towards me, but she pulls my attention again. "You're the first human to be seen in centuries! Tell us, how are you feeling?"

"Uh..." I stammer.

"Is it true that the humans used to go to the moon?" a badger calls out.

"Why don't you have any fur on the rest of your body? Don't you guys get scratched up easily?" a dog calls out.

"Is it true that you humans used to keep animals in cages?" a pelican shouts from the back.

"Shut up, Jeb!" a few people - animals - moan.

I'm feeling overwhelmed. All the animals are trying to reach through the barrier, trying to touch my skin, and all of them are demanding my attention. As far as I know, I was dead two minutes ago and now I am being peppered with questions.

I think I prefer death.

The bear steers me away from the crowd, a protective paw clamped firmly on my shoulder. My head is spinning and I feel queasy, but I can't stop, not with the crowd of animals on our tail. A polar bear runs to catch up and asks me something about flying - what a polar bear would want up in the air is beyond me.

Finally, I'm hustled into a building, and the door is closed on all the curious animals. A word comes back to me: anthropomorphism. I explained to my little sister once that animals don't actually have feelings, and that books use anthropomorphism in children's stories to appeal to their empathy. She didn't understand all the big words.

These beings are anthropomorphs. I turn to the bear, who is watching me solemnly.

"I resurrected you for a reason, Dylan." He knows my name? "Humans went extinct almost a millennium ago, and no one knows why. We don't have much time. The Thousandth Year is in a few weeks."

"Wait... what?" I say, trying to wrap my head around what he's telling me. I've been dead for more than a thousand years. I'm the only human alive right now. And there's some sort of deadline?

Sorry, too much like a videogame.

"Listen, man, you've clearly resurrected the wrong guy. I can fix that for you. Just point me to the nearest ocean, and I'll go back the way I came, and you can resurrect a real hero."

"No, Dylan," the bear said forcefully. "It has to be you. The boy whose body rremained in the same condition at the bottom of the ocean for a thousand years."

My head is reeling. Something isn't right.

"What am I supposed to do, anyway? Why am I here?"

"Dylan," the bear said, almost surprised I had to ask. "You have to bring back the human race."

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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I'm so glad you like it. This is the first time in a long time I have written anything but this writing prompt just hit my brain in just the right way to make me want to finally write something. I was having issues replying to my original comment so I posted it and part 2 on my profile if you want to read more.

I'm so happy you like it! A part of me wants to answer your questions but I don't want to spoil the story. I promise these questions, and more, will be answered as the story continues. I was having issues replying to my original comment so I posted it and part 2 on my profile if you want to read more.

I really like this style of writing

A hunter leaves his spot as the moon rises overhead. It’s too late to hunt now, and it’s time to head home. As his headlamp flickers on, he finds the woods he’d come through were not the same as the woods that stretched out before him now.

The teacher was less than enthused by seeing this. Half the crowd was having the biggest laugh ever, like they never heard a joke before. Another chunk was looking absolutely confused. Even my teacher beyond her annoyance was bewildered. "I know the world is half dead inside and out, but this was a bit too far for a prank."

This was an alternative school, essentially. As with most, we had a resident good kid. The "prep reject" as it were. That was me. The teacher gave me the letter but asked me to grab something else from the capsule because it was known I wouldn't remove anything for a prank. So I saw a fancy knife with a sheath in there & grabbed that. I let the teacher know I was gonna step away from the crowd to read the letter, because I was confused too. She let me, understanding this wasn't exactly something I knew about either. "We needed that today, sis! Thanks a ton!" one classmate chimed in. It was the first anniversary of The Tragedy, we needed the brevity.

Everyone else was enjoying the time capsule stuff. I was over against the school was still in sight, and I read the letter. "To my new self, I did so much in my life. This time capsule was part of what I did to ensure you did have what I did, and Hell, I did my best to fix your world before it was on the path to my world. So please hold some patience to read this. I had a letter from an alternate me as well at a much older age than yourself explaining some of these details."

I was weirded out my this. My girlfriend came over asking if she I wanted to see her new accessories. I left a mark where I stopped reading. They were amazing! "Oh my gods, sweetie! I'm jealous!" I cried out in pure gender envy, kissing her hands + along her arms.. She ran her fingers along my neck being flirty as usual. I had to turn her down because of the letter being that interesting and bizarre. She understood & settled for cuddles.

"So I'll explain predestined things first," this was honestly interesting. The word 'explaine' was spelled wrong, but I guess it was a weird thing related to the time it was written. "First and foremost, we are always born, we are always transfemme, and several websites will always exist as well regardless of name. A blog site, a site with an alien mascot filled with the weirdest mix of normies + strange folks that puts offline life to shame, and a blue coated F that's associated to old people mainly."

"Babe, this is a really elaborate letter. Who did this?" my gf asked. "They even mimicked your handwriting." I just kissed her forehead & pulled her closer for cuddles. The comfort we had in our relationship was regarded as 'goals' half the time by our classmates. We always giggled at it, but that's just how things were here. Everyone was able to joke about each other, but if any one of us was screwed with wrong, we all were ready for war. It was relatively familial in nature, though there was a clear earned status too.

"But my time travel matters were a bit different. I jumped through time to fix a few things but not by choice. If I could've, I would've stopped Constantine's bullshit. But I managed to do a few things. I managed to defend Native Americans from colonization by giving them appropriate prep time & medicine that I managed to bring with me. There were still some heavy numbers lost, but many more were saved." — Now I really was bewildered. The person who was shown in those photos had clothes that didn't look like anything I'd wear. A green and yellow shirt with a white G on it, black pants that had white stripes on the sides, and leather looking gloves. "There's also an artist you can look up, Adolf Hitler. In the bottom of the box that had this letter is a USB containing a semi-comprehensive list of the atrocities he would've done had I not convinced him to stick with art through everything. I pulled some strings with money I managed to get & sponsor him getting in. The data isn't for the faint of heart."

"I'm sorry? Does that say Adolf Hitler committing ateocities? Wasn't he a batshit dumbass with art skills from the 1950s?" my gf chimed in.

"Yep. That's the guy. Watch this say something about Disney World not having Oswald the Rabbit & Mortimer Mouse as bitter iconic rivals for D'isney,' I replied.

"Richard Nixon thankfully became a blip in history, as did a few TV stars like Ronald Reagan," the letter continued. "Though it does sadden me a little to see Kingdom Hearts became a series with Warner cartoons rather than Disney. Mickey Mouse was at his best when he was a king." — This is something that I had to re-read about 13 times. "I left another USB in there of the whole series for you though, the Disney one obviously." That one I read about 7 more times. The inconsistencies & such made this clearly truthful with what was said, but also had a surreal nature to it.

My girlfriend looked at the time & said we should get going to lunch. I asked her to just bring mine to me. We were in a safe zone after all, and supplies were brought in fairly often.

"Now I expect you grabbed the knife in the box. Use it well when the monsters start spawning. If all goes right this time, you will be able to keep this better world that zi helped you with. The third USB contains all of my writing, and a comprehensive list I can't fit here. Please, enjoy your world. Tell others what could have been."

I folded the letter again & put it back in the box. I went to the rooftop & looked over the landscape of the area. We at least were winning the war against the undead, but I have to wonder what that other me did to cause this. Was it truly a better alternative to her world? I could only know from the USB. This hellscape was saved by my fellow autistics & spoonies, they knew every in and out of surviving this world. I wonder where that other me is too, and if she saw this world preferable. It is 2013, so it couldn't be as bad as that other future. Right?

I awoke to sounds similar to my native language, as the clear coffin opened to a number of smartly dressed....squirrels and badgers?

One of them wore a monocle, and a contraption that had multiple clear lenses that moved on a bar arm. It spoke, a sense of the feminine within it, as its foreclaws prodded the flesh of my abdomen. "Hrm. This wasn't quite what I expected - this strange coloured flesh bag. I think this is a Hugh Mann?" It was holding in its other foreclaw a clipboard with a string of spider silk attaching a pen to it; a Bic.

The badger was much smaller than I was, although the head itself was larger than those I was familiar with. I gently rippled my hand, making sure that I felt everything there, and I blinked my eyes. The badger quickly swept a claw into a pocket on its disturbingly white coat and pulled out a small LED torch, shining it directly into my eyes.

I swatted it away, saying, "Give me a minute, dammit!" It blinked back, and stepped back, hissing before shock registered on its face. "Wait....I understand you. How did you...?" It shook its head, muttering something under its breath, before raising its voice again. "No, no, no, that can't be right, it shouldn't be able to understand me."

A masculine voice called out, "Yannifer, what the Hssss are you doing, antagonising the Hugh Mann! I told you to wait for the reanimation protoc-oh." His furious flow was disrupted as he took in my gaze.

Imagine seeing a bodybuilder in the form of a leopard, complete with skin and hair colouration, and a very feline face. Then grow it to my height stood on its hind paws, which had adapted to become more like feet, and then clothe it.

It nodded to someone, who pushed something and cleared the door to my coffin. There was a surge of warm air, as the atmosphere here leaked in and merged with the air inside.

"As if that doesn't beat Great Doggi," he breathed, trying to make himself smaller. He stood and moved in close to me, making the movement in the space of a second. I shrank into the coffin as he breathed, his slitted emerald eyes widening in excitement. "Incredible....I'd heard of these unusual creatures from the long off days of Far Ago, but I didn't expect the skeletal remains to bring us something this strange and fleshy!" He breathed on me, and the smell of fresh meat ran through me as he placed his right paw on my face. I panicked a little, and he sniffed.

"An increased heart rate and something of fear," as he ran his paw along my cheeks and I felt the pads on the tips of his opposable thumbclaw slide on my skin roughly.

I couldn't help it - my hand reached up and grabbed his arm, firmly but gently. "That's enough of that, who are you, and why am I the only normal one here?" I pointed at one of the other animals here. "I can see..." and I racked my brain as the memories were coming back. "A leopard, some badgers, some squirrels and...is that an allosaur running the place?" I rubbed my eyes with my free hand, wondering what the hell had happened. My skin was a deep brown on my hands, fading on the palms, and not the colour I remembered.

"Incredible..." the cat breathed. "That was close to the Divine Writings of Jesus Manx and his Disciples."

The badger turned to him. Yannifer, I noted. She stared as though I had just become an eldritch monstrosity. "Oh my Ratatosk. I never thought you would find religion, Alkham." The cat grinned at her, and she grinned back, stepping back just in case.

"Hey, I was raised Manx, you know - Just because I don't believe anymore doesn't mean I don't know the stories!" He playfully swatted at her, as she stuck out her tongue, flicking her vestigial tail-bush at him.

She picked up the pen, and started scribbling on the clipboard. "Can you move at all?" She spoke, turning her head to me.

I nodded, making a parody of a salute. "Yes, Ma'am." She nodded to another person, as I pushed my way out of the coffin. She started to walk away as I stumbled, and cut myself on the edge of the coffin.

The cat, Alkham, just looked at the cut. He called out, "Yanni, he has red blood just like most of us. Can you get him cleaned up before you start testing him? Some of the others might get....ideas."

Yeah, I love how different people can come up with such widely different ideas!

Loved this. I clicked your profile but didn’t see anything else. Are you a goddess?

Looks like someone wants a furry isekai story 😏

That's clever! You should write one about that. I struggled to tie it all together if I'm being honest, your idea would have helped!

"May you accept this humble offering, oh gods, and watch over me on my travels," I said quietly as I a piece of meat into the fire and bit into the rest.

"You know," a gravely voice suddenly rang out behind me, "I prefer my meat un-burnt."

I darted upwards and turned to see whoever spoke; it was rare for anyone to sneak up on me. A lifetime on the road taught me better. Stranger still, the man before me was old and frail. I was surprised he approached me without snapping a bone, let alone any branches to make a sound.

"Oh, please, please, don't get up," he smiled and walked closer to the fire as if my hand wasn't on the hilt of my sword. "Really. Sit. You're making me feel rude," he chuckled and, with a loud grunt, sat down.

I could see him better now that he was by the fire. He looked well over 70, his face wrinkled and tired, and only wore dusty old rags. A beggar, likely.

"Who are you?" I asked as I sat back down.

"Just a traveller," he said casually. Then, without a sound, he leaned forward and reached into the fire. His hand remained in it for several seconds before he pulled it out holding the piece of meat I threw in. The offering. He put it in his mouth and chewed - I could see that neither his hand nor his rags bore any burn marks.

"You're..." I gasped.

"Yep."

I stood up again, only to fall to my knees.

"Please forgive me, o' Hermes, for I did-"

"Oh please, sit down!" he growled. "Can't stand all this grovelling. You've been on your feet all day, take it easy, will you?"

Slowly, carefully, I resumed my position by the fire but kept staring at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to do next.

"Eat," he commanded. I carefully bit into the meat.

"You're wondering why I'm here, sitting with you, aren't you, Lavrentios?"

I nodded. I couldn't force myself to speak, too afraid of saying something wrong.

He smiled. "Sorry to disappoint, but there is no grand reveal. I'm not about to send you on a mighty quest filled with peril. I just wanted some company. But, if I am not mistaken," he said and his eyes briefly lit up with a golden light, "you are relieved to hear that."

"...yes. Yes, I am."

"I respect that. A man that likes his place in the world. Rare nowadays, I'll say."

He reached deep into his robe and produced a waterskin that he took a long sip out of before offering it to me. I carefully accepted and took a swig - it was wine. The best wine I had ever tasted in my mortal life. I swiftly took another gulp before handing it back.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"I like you, Lavrentios," he suddenly opened. "You're humble. Pious, but not zealous. A capable messenger," he said and nodded towards the bag sitting beside me. "Are you happy with your lot in life?"

"Of course, o' Hermes!" I spurted out quickly.

His eyes glowed gold again.

"Certainly not that happy, but I understand you're nervous talking to me."

He took a deep breath, taking in the fresh night air.

"But," he said, "about your offerings."

Cold sweat ran down my forehead. He reached into his robes again, pulling out... a silver coin. He placed it on a nearby stump and as he did, the moonlight hit it at just the right angle to shine straight into my eyes, forcing me to wince. When I opened them again, the man was nowhere to be seen, though I could hear his voice echo all around me.

"Place them beside the fire next time, would you?"

I liked this! It was a fun read.

I had only one logical hangup:

“STOP BURNING MY FOOD”

“… okay, then. Is there something like HermesDash or AgniEats I can use to send it to you?”

You were trained for this moment. A bomb found in a museum. Defuse it or some of the most priceless artifacts in the world will be lost forever - not to mention your own life. However, there is a hitch. This bomb is unlike anything you've ever seen.

The more I think of this the more it seems like a really great book idea. Every fight, every trauma, every lost loved one, everything is a lie.

The only other person who could help you to escape the lie is a person who you have done near next to nothing but constantly fight and hurt each other, and yet if everything is a lie then shouldn’t they forgive and make-up easily to escape? People don’t work that way though these two would be constantly bickering about past grievances that have never truly mattered while they are trapped in a world of lies possibly being watched by outside eyes.

Instead of just making this a writing prompt I’d be really interested in hearing the OPs own story about this story.

Thank you :)

VULCAN LIVESSS! STOMPSTOMP

No, everything makes sense when your on an energy drink binge. Its just not right

Full moons and wide open plains have always had a certain serenity to which the city could never compare. Out here, in the dark and cold, Ember felt lighter than a feather. The horses added to that as they pushed her around but that was their job and hers was to guide them and the carriage south.

Winter’s edge had started to be felt far up on the slopes of the mountains and they needed a couple of supplies before snow made the path difficult to travel. Her parents and a cousin were all in the back as the last of the sunlight had faded. They argued. Ember tried her best not to pay them any mind.

It was late, night had come early as deep clouds threatened yet only stood menacingly on the hillside till they parted as the wind changed. Luna crept over the horizon as Ember settled for the night and started her fire. Small kindling and a couple of dry logs that she had found crackled softly as she pulled out her small pot. Salted meat and a couple of vegetables flavoured a skin of water as they were all brought to a simmer. Holding a piece of pork back from the water, Ember smiled into the fire and held a small piece of meat to it.

“Esseem, protector and guardian, please watch over us as you always have,” Ember whispered as her family tried to set up the small tent they had brought with them. Her Ma wouldn’t approve, she didn’t believe in the family’s ancient guardian nor thought it was wise to invoke a deity that hadn’t brought them any fortune in living memory. From the moment her great-grandfather had spoken to her of the old legends, Ember had felt a kinship to the ancient spirit and their stories. Taking a deep breath, Ember sniffed the pork and then whispered, “I wish there was more I could give you.”

"You know, I would very much prefer my food un-burnt," a whisper returned to her before she was able to place the meat in the fire.

Ember flinched away and dropped the dried morsel next to the fire. A small cat, darker than the night around her bounced out of the bushes and pounced on the meal Ember had left for them. Biting down, it gave out a bit of a warble in frustration as the hardened salted pork pocked at its mouth. Ember watched.

“You humans make your food so tough,” a whisper came from the creature as they hissed at the food and then glanced up at the pot of now boiling water, “Is that any easier to eat?”

“Yes?” Ember whispered back, glancing at the pot and then at her family by the carriage. Was this real? Taking a cube out of the pot she flung it toward the dark-furred cat and watched it eat. Seemingly satisfied, the cat licked its paws and gave out a quiet meow. Ember hesitated for a moment but had to ask, “What are you?”

“You’re guardian,” the cat whispered before declaring, “I am the lord Esseem.”

“You're a cat,” Ember argued back.

“Very observant human,” Esseem acknowledge, “You will make a brilliant new high priestess.”

“What? No, hang on,” Ember tried to argue but the cat ignore her and went to the pot. Before the thing was able to look into it, Ember grabbed it and pulled it away, whispering, “No, that’s not yours.”

“Human!” the cat called out as it struggled, “Unhand me! This form needs substances.”

“I’m going nuts,” Ember whispered to herself as she dragged the cat away.

“You are not,” the cat argued, “I, your faithful protector, have… umm… protected you.”

“From what?” Ember argued back, “Mice?”

“Among other things,” the cat explained as it twisted and tried to get out of Ember’s grasp. Barn cats weren’t all that hard to move once you learned how to get the claws facing away from you and Ember had more than a little experience at this point. Never had a talking one though. That was new. The cat stopped struggling for a second and looked around, “Where are you taking me?”

“Away from our food,” Ember scoffed as she carried the cat passed the light of the campfire and put it down facing away.

“How rude,” the cat whispered, “You offer me food and then pull me away from it?”

“I didn’t,” Ember argued, “I offered you one small piece, not the entire pot.”

“Ember!” Ember heard her father call out and glanced at the carriage, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s this weird cat,” Ember yelled back and looked down to now bare land. A scuffle behind her and she saw the black cat was almost back at the pot. “Hey! No, you stupid… Don’t you dare.”

The cat only had its paw in the pot for a second but was able to scoop up a large piece of meat for itself and bolt away. Her father saw the thing as well and ran toward the fire but it was long gone before either of them got to it.

“Till your next offering!” a small, wispy voice carried on the wind behind the cat.

Ember could only watch the thing go as her father gave her a confused frown.

—

If you want to read more of my work, you can find it over at r/asolitarycandle. Not sure what to read, check out my favorites.

Personal Log: Day 492

Today is the day. We find out if our Space VII transmissions were successfully able to be decoded and translated. It had been 3 years since the “crash” of Space VII was reported to the public, but those of us working the true case knew it wasn’t just a crash. They were warned to turn out of The Zyrbex Region but the president had ordered them to stay course. Within moments a gravitational wave with the force of a black hole had been unleashed upon the crew. All were immediately “lost to the stars” as the public knew.

Space VII had launched 15 years ago, I was part of the original launch team and one of the few left to receive their transmissions and communications. Within 3 years of the launch humanity had discovered that we were in fact not alone. March 19th, 2136; the day we discover alien life. Every horror movie about them had been right.

The Zybrex were ripping through the universe. Farming species after species, harvesting world after world. Leaving pure chaos and destruction in their wake. For the ones that survived there was no hope. We on Earth saw opportunity to help, and learn more about other species on the brink of extinction. From this, the program ORBYT was launched. ORBYT was designed to collect data first, analyze and interpret that data in order to best help the survivors rebuild. Charity’s all over the globe donating to build these devices to be sent to planets to start the rebuild, collect information on the species, but also deliver information about the human race.

Soon after the universe was notified of the human race and our efforts to help things went down hill fast. The Zybrex learned of our resources and our knowledge of the other species we attempted to help. In one day we lost 4.3 billion people. The blink of an eye, just like that gone. Their souls taken to power the Zybrex fleets.

The world was already devastated enough by the harvest, they did not need to be burdened with the true fate of the crew on Space VII.

Personal Log: Day 503

If I could go back 11 days and take back what I had learned I would. I admit that I have thought of a means to my end since reading and hearing the transmissions from Space VII on their tragic last day. What I have learned can never reach the public. There are already so few of us left since the harvest, we can’t afford to lose any more.

Part of the transmission is as follows:

“You know who we are. You know what we need, for we are you and you are we. Sacrifice the many to save the few, as so many years you Mother Earth have commanded us to do.”

You hear the captain gasp as they realize what this means. They ask the Zybrex to speak plainly if it may be the humans last moments, they wish to hear familiar words and sounds rather than decibels so low machines must be used to listen.

“We left Earth long before you ever launched your mission. Long before cars, and planes. We left after our monuments and equipment were built. Before the harvest and destruction, the pyramids were our beacons, Uluru our womb, the many falls, lakes, and seas were our communication pathways. We made Earth strong so one day we could come back to her. The souls we harvest now are fuel for the journey home.”

And with that a loud crunching sound. I knew that was the gravitational wave wreaking havoc aboard the ship. Emotions pained me. None of this seemed fair or right but the history all lined up, there was no denying it.

Based on the time of the transmission The Zybrex empire will be in Earths orbit in no less than 30 hours.

What am I supposed to do with 30 hours. I have no one left. There are 3 of us who maintain the machines and systems here. The world as we knew it before the harvest was gone. There would be no point to broadcast the impending doom that humanity is set to face. I just pray that whatever happens it is quick and painless.

I know what I can do. ORBYT will truly tell the universe who we are. This is your warning. We were all wrong.

Unknown amount of time later: “Humanity Transmission complete. ORBYT device is equipped with A.I. to answer any questions you may have about the human race. Are there any that you have at this time?”

“Uhhhhhh……. Yes and no,” said Jymnxis

“If there are no further questions ORBYT will begin assessment of species and you will be notified best course of action to proceed with rebuilding in approximately 4 hours.

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There’s not enough sunlight for the trees to grow as they once did. They’re short, stubby things now. They’re like children deficient of vitamins, their spines curved, life-expectancy reduced.

All the same, trees do grow again in this corpse of a city. They broke through the ancient concrete like fists battering layers of sheet-ice until it cracked.

I sit on a patch of weeds in front of a crackling fire. The day — or night — is grey and shadowed. The clouds are swirls of black and purple that won’t settle in my lifetime. I feel like I am in a box, or a coffin perhaps, and the lid has been shut on me.

I throw more wood onto the fire then cook a skewered rat over the blaze. The fire leaps excitedly at the food.

The city teems with rats and trees and fruit that rots before it ripens. It is life after death for the city, like poppies growing on a battlefield. But it will never be what it was. There was a time I’d spend my days searching the city, hoping to find something but not knowing what that something was. Now, I barely move. Only to catch food and to cook.

I throw a piece of well-browned meat onto the fire. Then I lean back and try to read my book in the firelight hoping it distracts me from the pain. There is no cover to the book and I can’t be sure of the author, but I think it’s a classic. A slice of American life when the American dream was whole but rippled — like a stick had poked a watery reflection, but the reflection was still just about visible.

“It’s kind of you,” says a voice. “But I’d appreciate my meat less well done.”

It’s the first voice I’ve heard in a decade.

I hold my trembling arms together at my chest as a woman approaches my fire. Sits calmly opposite me.

“Are you… are you real?” I ask, in a raw unpracticed voice.

It wouldn’t be my first hallucination.

Her features are silhouetted, the darting flames only lighting up to her neck.

“It’s impressive,” she says.

I shake my head. I’m at a loss. “What is?”

”That your faith is still with you after so long. After everything.”

“Who are you?”

”The person at the other end of the phone.” She smiles — I see her white teeth even in the semi-darkness. “I’ve been listening to your calls. Every night for almost forty years. You believe you’re the last, don’t you?”

”The last?”

”The last person.”

”Oh.” It’s a thought I’ve suffered many times — it’s the lid that closed my coffin. I haven’t seen anyone since leaving the sewer. Not a soul. And if I was the last, if I allowed myself to believe it, then what would be the point? Humanity would have already ended and I would be a scene playing after the credits. Why would I keep wandering if there was no hope, or future — if there’s nothing more than this?

”They’re doing well,” she says. “I’m looking after them.”

“Them?”

”Your prayer.”

I try to laugh. “Prayer? I don’t pray. It’s clear there’s no god or the world wouldn’t look like this. I wouldn’t be like this.“ I tap the stump of my right foot with my walking stick. A slight cut turned infectious turned self-amputation. Since then, my search for others has stopped. Now I wait in this city, hoping someone finds me instead.

“You pray for them not yourself,” she says. “That they’re happy. That they’re taken care of. Your parents. Your wife. Your children. You pray for this each time you eat. Are you really that torn that you can’t remember your prayer?”

”I don’t believe in god.”

She smiles again. “And yet you pray. Subconsciously, perhaps. Every single meal. Because deep down, below all the pain and hate, you do believe. You need to.“

”You’re not real,” I say. I‘ve known it since she sat down but now I’m firm in my belief.

“You pray for you dog, too. You hope animals end up in heaven. You hope you’ll see them all again.”

Tears cut trails through the dirt on my face.

“You’re not real,” I say, softer.

She stands now. Walks around the fire until she is sitting by my side.

”You hung on so long,” she says.

”I…”

”You hang on still.”

”…Why? Why do I?”

”Because to be human is to hope.”

She touches my leg. Moves a hand slowly down my calf to my stump.

“Your amputation wasn’t enough. Your blood is still poisoned.”

I don’t look down at it; instead I look at the velvet coffin-box sky. I’d hoped to live but I’m not going to.

“You’re here to take me, then?” I say. “You’re something people see in their own mind, to come to terms with their death.”

She tilts her head. “I’m here to thank you. For never giving up on me or yourself or on those you loved. On your faith. And I promise I’ll look after them for you.”

She presses her hand hard against my calf and I feel my body pulse, as if my blood is being drawn to her palm.

“What is…”

”Shhh,” she says. “Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day. You’re not the last. Keep your hope alive.”

I want to struggle, fight, I want to ask a hundred questions, but a tiredness floods my veins and I fall slowly back on the bed of weeds.

​

When I wake, she is gone. I am well rested. I feel like I have slept long and deep.

I look up at the sky. There seems to be a glimmer of light on the horizon, as if the coffin’s lid has been opened just a crack.

I imagine the trees growing a little taller next year.

After breakfast, I begin my search about the city. Perhaps today I will find something.

Two men plan to exchange a very important briefcase in a park. But among the summer crowds that should have hidden them, they can sense others hiding and watching and waiting for a chance to intercept the briefcase.