Day 72

• Evelyn Greener, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2021

It was silent. Not the type of silence where you could hear the echo of a pin hitting the floor, but instead the type of silence where unease became more than a feeling. It was as if it was a shadow that followed you, teasing your paranoia and causing adrenaline to coarse through your veins and arteries, with every pump of the heart echoing in your ears.

No bird sung, no frog croaked. No distant traffic, and no murmurs or footsteps. Only the deafening howl of wind and sand, paired with the rhythmic crash of waves into the beach and cliffs.

Cities deserted and broken, but one sat upon a rock. But deafening silence did not frighten him but blanket him in warm relief. He was safe, but the length of said safety he did not know, nor want to guess. His skin littered with wounds; covered in blood which was not his, and blood that stained his tobacco pipe as he struggled to keep it gripped.

The sky was crimson and the grounds stained with the familiar metallic taste, for the colour red was no longer a little wave of light- nor was it just an association with complex feelings such as passion or violence. No, it was a reality. A reality where you looked for humanity and found only what they spilt the moment they lost themselves, for blood covered the lands forever and washed the beaches scarlet.

“Congratulations mortal,” His eyes travelled up to greet the god who stood before him; the one they would curse for generations if he were not the last. He was indifferent to their presence, for he wanted no offer or applause; he would be gone before he gave in. “you survived. You have earned your place.”

A deep resounding chuckle escaped his throat, taking in another waft of smoke with a sharp inhale. “There is still one left.” He stared the god in the eyes, and neither of them saw a soul for it was long gone. “I will not submit to you.”

His comment made the god frown with disapproval and discontent. His first and last act of rebellion with the lift and aim of his pistol. “You killed and made it to the top, and you wish to be a dead man?” ??His head nodded with the gun pressed firmly against it. “Are we not all dead from the moment we are born?” He questioned, only receiving a hum of agreement from the all-knowing entity. The ends of his lips curled into a small smile and his eyes slowly shutting as he revelled in content. His thoughts were with those he lost and those he took, accepting his lost humanity with open arms. “We all lost.”

With his last whispers, his finger tightened and the skies drained anew. All sound faded as the waves silenced, the last lick of wind calming in the now blue skies.

A bird sang, for it was now a new dawn.