She ran her hand along the broken pillar of the grand entrance, gazing at the rotting house in…
By: Alex Parsley-Peoples
Tags: Fiction, Writing, Fiction Writing, Short Story, Short Fiction

She ran her hand along the broken pillar of the grand entrance, gazing at the rotting house in front of her. It almost hurt to look at it — everything was so bright now, and even after all this time, she still wasn’t comfortable with change. Once, the house had been a brilliant pearlescent white. Now, it was dirty and stained, with a slight green sheen. Once, it had been tall and proud and happy, and sometimes it had loomed over the local population almost as if a warning to the terrors that existed inside. Now, it only slouched half-heartedly in its extremely old age, covered in flowering vines.

There was a haunting effect, seeing a once great building now naught but ruins — a memory of a nation, of the people who fought tooth and nail to protect this building and the gathering of similar ones near it, and a memory of a friend. It had been burned down and bombed more times than she could remember, but even with that it still had stood strong. No longer, now.

It had been strong, but not strong enough.

She was older than the building. She was as old as time, perhaps, but she wasn’t sure. She was immortal, yes, but still somewhat human. Her memory fogged over the longer she lived. She didn’t even remember her own name, nor her age, nor her mother or father. Not that it mattered, of course. She was the last of anything alive, and so a name wasn’t important anymore, and age means nothing when you’ll live forever, and her human parents were long dead by now. She had witnessed the construction of the house, and all subsequent events after, including its fall.

She had seen many things end. It was her way of life. She’d watched the fall of Rome, seen evil men die and good men die, watched the first two world wars tear the globe apart. She’d watched whole communities get destroyed and another war tear the globe apart, yet again. Unfortunately, none of these had prepared her for the end of the world. It took her a moment to recall exactly what had caused the downfall of society, and then of the human race. She walked to an old, mossy stone and sat down close to the spot.

It had been the humans themselves, she remembered all at once. The memory was hazy and confusing, but she knew it had been them who was their own downfall.

Their toys at the time consisted of bombs and nukes, and they destroyed themselves with their own playthings. Nothing stays the same, she had always told herself to cope with the loss of close friends, and yet humans never changed. They were greedy, and selfish, and angry. And they were kind, and selfless, and calm. They were paradoxal, and they were dangerous.

She remembered the day it started to end, vaguely. There was an explosion that took out half of a continent. She struggled to remember which one. It wasn’t important, anyway, she figured. Few survived, but those that did died not long after. She’d befriended the last one to die — a man whose name and face escaped her, but whose kindness didn’t. She protected him until his death, where she sat with him until he quit breathing, and buried him in a shallow grave, in front of this very house. She’d marked the spot with a large stone. She glanced at the mossy gravemarker at the memory, and sighed.

That was the last thing she truly remembered; the past centuries had been spent mostly like this day had — or had it been a day now? perhaps it had been a week, or a month, or a year, time blended together for her — simply wandering, visiting the ruins of a now-ancient society.

Today was different, though. She had once studied astronomy, and although she didn’t remember many specifics, she was certain that the sun had been expanding. Once, the sun had been a small ball in the sky. Now, the fire took up the entire sky. She was lonely, and she’d seen many years, beyond what could have been considered a long life. She was ready for the sun to swallow this planet. The name of the place escaped her, but she wouldn’t mourn it. Not after so long.

So she sat and waited, and slept, and waited some more. Time began to blur again, so she closed her eyes, until a burning pain licked at her skin. She glanced up and watched.

Once, the sun had been blue, and then yellow, and then orange. Now, it burned a deep red. She sat and watched and waited even more, and finally, she smiled. The sun retreated, and burst out like a spiral. She watched the planet be blown to bits beneath her feet, and she began to cry.

Everything was dark and quiet, and in front of her stood an old friend. He looked different. The change was nice. When there were still humans alive, and he had a reputation to uphold, he looked intimidating. He now wore an oversized sweater and a pair of jeans, an outfit reminiscent of a few thousand years ago.

He had been known by many names, across many cultures, but his main two were Death and God. He was Life and Death, End and Beginning. Creator and Destroyer. She smiled. “Welcome home, friend,” he said. “We have been waiting for you.” She noticed he wasn’t alone.

She didn’t recognize the other man, but he seemed familiar, like an old childhood friend. Together the two men felt like something she’d not had in quite a long time — home. She felt comfortable with them, and happy too. She smiled brighter, and her tears ceased. It had been a long time since she had been at Peace. She took their hands, and together they walked into Eternity.

Everything always changes, and yet nothing ever does. And for that, she was glad.