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 couldnโt 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 donโt 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.
โฆGod, 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 canโt bring myself to leave, the way I couldnโt bring myself to be productive when I had โimportantโ 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. Itโs 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.
Thereโs a notification on my screen.
Itโs a new follower on Tumblr. I mostly use the place as a diary now, or reblog things I want to save forever.
Iโm sure the follower is just AI, until I get a message. Or six.
โiโm sorry but I canโt believe thereโs literally anybody still hereโ
โor anywhereโ
โforgive me for rambling, again, iโm sorryโ
โthen again thereโs no conventions or anything to worry about anymore are there?โ
โwhatโs your name? or, a better question, do you even remember?โ
I can barely believe my eyes.
Iโm lucky that I have a few skills of social interaction left.
โMy name is Edward. Might I ask the same of you?โ
โฆI used to be a walking dictionary and thesaurus. It annoyed everyone, really, until there was nobody left to annoy.
โoh youโre sophisticated! my nameโs dorian, sorry for sounding like a flibbertigibbetโ
โYouโre perfectly fine, donโt worry about it. I donโt really think I could blame you for anything even if it were a real problem. Weโre long past the end of the world.โ
โโฆMay I ask how youโve survived this long? Not even the other ghosts stayed behind for more than the first year.โ
โโฆone, thatโs awfully poetic, i like you, two, pure anxiety, threeโฆ youโre a ghost??โ
โYes. Believe that Iโm lying if you like, but that changes nothing.โ
โif anything, iโd want to see for myself at least. not like thereโs anything else for me to do but meet you, right? what town or city you in?โ
โโฆI donโt suppose that I can distrust you. Iโve been residing in Manhattan and wandering around it for the last five years.โ
โNO SHIT?? iโve been in maryland, iโll be there in like a week topsโ
This close the whole time?
โi mean yeah how else would i get aroundโ
โFair point. No need to answer, but may I know your age?โ
โuhhhh i donโt celebrate birthdays or anything but i think iโm nineteenโ
โI was twenty when everything started, so twenty Iโve stayed.โ
โstagnation must be nice on occasionโ
โSometimes. Watching the world fall to pieces is still hard, though.โ
โi can agree with that. not a day goes by that i donโt see at least one carcass in the shell of a buildingโ
Even through two cold hunks of plastic and steel, the shared sentiment hits me in the face.
โThen I should be a nice disruption from the norm.โ
โi should say so. looking forward to seeing an animated face thatโsโฆ not my ownโ
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. Iโve 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 Iโve reblogged. He even managed to get my Discord and BlueSky, and begged me to call him.
I told him Iโd 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 didnโt 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.
โor uh. how soon can you be hereโ
โiโm in front of a panera bread with the dustiest green awnings known to manโ
I decide to sneak up behind him and startle him by speaking aloud.
โThey must be, since youโre the last man alive.โ
He nearly knocks over his chair as he snaps around, and I get a good look at him.
Heโs quite pretty, actually; messy auburn hair, the brightest green eyes Iโve ever seen, shorter than me by about three inches, and light peach skin as opposed to the golden tint of mine.
Iโd look better if I werenโt incorporeal, of course, but heโs clearly assessing my appearance as well.
I know Iโm a mess, my blonde hair eternally unbrushed but not tangled, brown eyes with dark circles that never go away, loose dark clothesโฆ definitely not a good first impression.
He doesnโt seem to mind, though. His pupils are a bit wider, and he seems to forget his surroundings. Itโs quite endearing.
I do have to snap him out of it, though. I wave a hand in front of his face.
He doesnโt start this time, simply averting his gaze to the side.
โSorryโฆ itโs been a long time since I, uhโฆ actually saw someone else.โ
โA fair point. Soโฆโ
โCan we go to the beach?โ
I blink in surprise, before laughing.
โOf course. Itโll probably be less awkward there, wonโt it?โ
โI like watching birds. Theyโre silly and I think itโs entertaining enough.โ
โI prefer swimming at night. Darkness is calming, and treading water reminds me that Iโm still present.โ
โโฆWell, when you put it like that, I sound stupid.โ
โDonโt say that. Honestly, I sound depressing.โ
โโฆWeโre both losers, arenโt we?โ
I stay behind him while I direct him to the seashore, allowing myself to float just above the ground. He doesnโt 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. Heโs 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, weโre 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. Heโs the last man alive, and Iโm 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.
โMay I ask something?โ
โGo ahead!โ
โโฆWhy do you fixate on messing with the birds?โ
โWellโฆ I really like them, I guessโฆโ
โโฆMight I ask something else?โ
โโฆWhy do you like the birds?โ
โโฆIโฆโ
โโฆWell, why do you like the stars?โ
โThatโs a good question. I supposeโฆ because they signify freedom to me, even though I choose not to free myself.โ
โโฆAlright, walking poem.โ
Thereโs only one response to that that I can think of.
I kiss him softly on the cheek. Iโm not used to being intimate with anybody, but I canโt pass up this opportunity. Weโll have endless years to figure out if weโre a bad match, and we donโt even have to rush into this. But tonightโฆ neither of us wants to keep our hands off the other.
Dorian pulls me closer without hesitation.
โI donโt want to say โI love youโ yet, butโฆ can I stay with you? Iโm kinda tired of walking aimlessly.โ
I smile, of course, and bury my head into his chest. I may even gaze up at him amorously, I donโt care about how I present myself anymore.
โStay as long as you want. I love you, too.โ