I wrote this while listening to Human by FLAVOR FOLEY on loop.
It has been five years since the end of the world.
Nobody ever figured out how it happened. One minute, everything was as normal, and the next, half the population suddenly died.
The rest lasted for about eight months, but simply couldn’t continue on.
I myself am the last blasted memory of this emptiness. Not even the other ghosts chose to remain.
I stay in this apartment that was once a mere fragment of bustling city, or I roam the gray seashore nearby, or I wander for what seems like ages, never quite getting out of my comfort zone. Old habits don’t die, it seems. My apartment is the most comfortable place to me.
Even as a ghost, I do the same things I did when I was alive. Probably the most sad part, honestly. Doomscrolling the remnants of the age of man, listening to every vocal synth song that I can. Even the darkest stories told by GHOST or Kikuo seem brighter than the bleakness that is my final reality.
…God, we were pathetic creatures. The birds are better left to inherit this blue orb of nitrogen.
Truly, the only thing seeming to keep me tethered to it are the leftover tales on my flat metal rectangle, the stars that are still in the sky, and the fleeting idea that somebody has to stay behind, no matter their state of being.
I just can’t bring myself to leave, the way I couldn’t bring myself to be productive when I had “important” things to do.
When I do go out to the seashore, I stay for days at a time. Chasing the retreating waves, laying motionless on the packed sand thinking of nothing, watching the sandpipers grow up. It’s something, at least.
Travelling the city is more depressing. Seeing perishables in stores long gone stale and rotten, empty schools still bringing tears to my eyes, the hollow decomposing shells of those who once had hope.
It makes me feel sick sometimes. Or, as sick as a ghost can be, anyway.
There’s a notification on my screen.
It’s a new follower on Tumblr. I mostly use the place as a diary now, or reblog things I want to save forever.
I’m sure the follower is just AI, until I get a message. Or six.
“i’m sorry but I can’t believe there’s literally anybody still here”
“or anywhere”
“forgive me for rambling, again, i’m sorry”
“then again there’s no conventions or anything to worry about anymore are there?”
“what’s your name? or, a better question, do you even remember?”
I can barely believe my eyes.
I’m lucky that I have a few skills of social interaction left.
“My name is Edward. Might I ask the same of you?”
…I used to be a walking dictionary and thesaurus. It annoyed everyone, really, until there was nobody left to annoy.
“oh you’re sophisticated! my name’s dorian, sorry for sounding like a flibbertigibbet”
“You’re perfectly fine, don’t worry about it. I don’t really think I could blame you for anything even if it were a real problem. We’re long past the end of the world.”
“…May I ask how you’ve survived this long? Not even the other ghosts stayed behind for more than the first year.”
“…one, that’s awfully poetic, i like you, two, pure anxiety, three… you’re a ghost??”
“Yes. Believe that I’m lying if you like, but that changes nothing.”
“if anything, i’d want to see for myself at least. not like there’s anything else for me to do but meet you, right? what town or city you in?”
“…I don’t suppose that I can distrust you. I’ve been residing in Manhattan and wandering around it for the last five years.”
“NO SHIT?? i’ve been in maryland, i’ll be there in like a week tops”
This close the whole time?
“i mean yeah how else would i get around”
“Fair point. No need to answer, but may I know your age?”
“uhhhh i don’t celebrate birthdays or anything but i think i’m nineteen”
“I was twenty when everything started, so twenty I’ve stayed.”
“stagnation must be nice on occasion”
“Sometimes. Watching the world fall to pieces is still hard, though.”
“i can agree with that. not a day goes by that i don’t see at least one carcass in the shell of a building”
Even through two cold hunks of plastic and steel, the shared sentiment hits me in the face.
“Then I should be a nice disruption from the norm.”
“i should say so. looking forward to seeing an animated face that’s… not my own”
Ah yes, the switch that flips in those with any neurodivergency whatsoever when they grow comfortable.
I keep the tab open, but quickly open a new one for YouTube. I need a distraction from that embarrassing slip, stat.
The next few days pass fairly quickly. I binge Smosh Pit, the recordings of happier times keeping my hopes up as I walk around the nearby cities. I’ve no idea what to expect from Dorian, but the thought of a slightly energetic rambler entices me. I could use someone that refreshing as a companion.
He starts small conversations with me, presumably when he takes breaks from driving. He mostly likes to chat about games, books, music, anything I’ve reblogged. He even managed to get my Discord and BlueSky, and begged me to call him.
I told him I’d prefer to surprise him when we meet face to face, but I did send him a very old recording of me singing. A moment of weakness, but he seemed to sense my chagrin. He told me he liked the song and didn’t bring it up again.
It reminded me of the old times. He was sitting at an outdoor table near a restaurant, fooling around on a Samsung Galaxy. I get a notification on my own phone.
“or uh. how soon can you be here”
“i’m in front of a panera bread with the dustiest green awnings known to man”
I decide to sneak up behind him and startle him by speaking aloud.
“They must be, since you’re the last man alive.”
He nearly knocks over his chair as he snaps around, and I get a good look at him.
He’s quite pretty, actually; messy auburn hair, the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen, shorter than me by about three inches, and light peach skin as opposed to the golden tint of mine.
I’d look better if I weren’t incorporeal, of course, but he’s clearly assessing my appearance as well.
I know I’m a mess, my blonde hair eternally unbrushed but not tangled, brown eyes with dark circles that never go away, loose dark clothes… definitely not a good first impression.
He doesn’t seem to mind, though. His pupils are a bit wider, and he seems to forget his surroundings. It’s quite endearing.
I do have to snap him out of it, though. I wave a hand in front of his face.
He doesn’t start this time, simply averting his gaze to the side.
“Sorry… it’s been a long time since I, uh… actually saw someone else.”
“Can we go to the beach?”
I blink in surprise, before laughing.
“Of course. It’ll probably be less awkward there, won’t it?”
“I like watching birds. They’re silly and I think it’s entertaining enough.”
“I prefer swimming at night. Darkness is calming, and treading water reminds me that I’m still present.”
“…Well, when you put it like that, I sound stupid.”
“Don’t say that. Honestly, I sound depressing.”
“…We’re both losers, aren’t we?”
I stay behind him while I direct him to the seashore, allowing myself to float just above the ground. He doesn’t seem to mind too much.
We spend the rest of the day on the shore, him chasing birds and I laying flat on the uncovered ground. At some point, I turn on my playlist, and he looks back to me with an enthusiastic smile. Eventually, I find the instrumentals to every song I have saved, and we fill the air with our own music. He’s almost as good of a singer as I like to think I am, and I easily harmonize with him.
Hours pass like that, and by the time the sun sets, we’re a giggling mess, talking about anything at all, starting a few campfires, dancing with as many different styles as Vane Lily wrote songs in. We loosened up hours ago, and he got a bit flirty somewhere around Collared.
Not that I can blame him. He’s the last man alive, and I’m the last vague recollection of what used to be.
Eventually, he settles beside me, and I force my body to solidify as much as I can.
“Go ahead!”
“…Why do you fixate on messing with the birds?”
“Well… I really like them, I guess…”
“…Might I ask something else?”
“…Why do you like the birds?”
“…I…”
“…Well, why do you like the stars?”
“That’s a good question. I suppose… because they signify freedom to me, even though I choose not to free myself.”
“…Alright, walking poem.”
There’s only one response to that that I can think of.
I kiss him softly on the cheek. I’m not used to being intimate with anybody, but I can’t pass up this opportunity. We’ll have endless years to figure out if we’re a bad match, and we don’t even have to rush into this. But tonight… neither of us wants to keep our hands off the other.
Dorian pulls me closer without hesitation.
“I don’t want to say ‘I love you’ yet, but… can I stay with you? I’m kinda tired of walking aimlessly.”
I smile, of course, and bury my head into his chest. I may even gaze up at him amorously, I don’t care about how I present myself anymore.
“Stay as long as you want. I love you, too.”
