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A Story by Adam W.

The last man in the universe struggles to find the right words.

The sky was dark. It had been for many years now. No stars, no moon; pure, endless black. Some might find that terrifying, but it was all the last man had ever known. He found the darkness comforting, somehow.

The universe had been dark since he was born. His mother and father had lived in this shelter, but they'd died long ago. When they died, he scoured the universe with telescopes, sensors - anything at his disposal. He had found no-one. Now, his hair was grey, and his cloudy eyes stared back at him from his reflection in the window. He was silent, as always.

He knew he was the last. His heart was the only one beating on this world, on the next, and on every world. He knew that his last words would be the last words this universe heard. And so, he had kept silent, thinking of what he would say when the time came.

He looked at his library; not a huge collection, but one that had kept him entertained. Now, however, the books were dusty, the pages brittle. The old man didn't need to read them anymore. He had the endings memorized. Endings were his favourite.

With a shaky hand, he picked up the only book that had been opened within the last few years. It was a notebook, filled with scrawled notes and sketches. He looked through it all, smiling to himself. This book was his legacy, even if nobody would ever read it.

On the last page, he found what he was looking for. Music. It was nothing complex - he had taught himself how to compose, after all - but it was unique. It was the last creation of humanity.

He picked up his violin and sat down in his antique leather chair - an interesting concept, he thought, as everything was antique now. Readying the bow, he found his hand suddenly steady. His eyes, usually unfocused, could read the sheet music with perfect clarity. This would be his last performance, and it would be perfect.

With a deep breath, he began to play. The song was slow, deep and melodic. However, it was not sad. Had there been anyone to hear it, they would have described it as proud. An anthem of humanity, a celebration of history; rejoicing the days that would never come again.

As he played, he closed his eyes. No need to read the sheet music; he had the ending memorized, after all. The last note hung in the air, wavering.

The old man - the last man - stood up, bowing stiffly. The thunderous, silent applause of the dead universe rewarded him. He sat down again, and with dry lips and a voice not heard for many years, he uttered the last two words the universe would ever hear.

"Thank you."

And then all was silent.