JANUARY 2023 -- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO ASHLEYNE!

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Song of the Old Man

The sea battered the rickety vessel, tossing nine elderly fools like dolls. Two hours later, we docked at a desolate shore.

We hobbled up a rocky path that ended at a small escarpment. Our guide directed us around an outcropping.

We gasped in unison.

Magnificent. Its branches reached out, calling us nearer. Bright green leaves danced in the cool breeze.

No one spoke.

Back home, I sang a silent song to a treeless world.
 
Endlings

He was dead, my only companion.
Two years ago the asteroid hit. I absently wonder if the dinosaurs did any better?
We hadn’t seen another soul in months.
Exhausted I lay back, resting my eyes.

I was awoken by something nudging my head, an odd; hefty; ugly looking ‘bird.’
Curled next to me, dozing, a striped fox like fellow.

A voice. Inside my head?

Welcome sentient being. Please join us - for you are the last.
 
Last, but not Lost

They visit and pester me each day. “You’re the last one,” they insist – as if I don’t know! – “Write a book, make a vid, anything! Document your life, for posterity!”

I refuse, categorically. “Hypocrites! You have hunted and liquidated us relentlessly. And now you want my story? Revoke my unjust imprisonment and I will reconsider.”

They may act contrite but still fear me; they retreat hastily. For now.

And I, last Robot, sigh and wait.
 
You Said It

“Alien exchange students will learn Earth customs from the children in the household,” the host father said as he picked up the toy the small human had thrown. Again.

Bref sent a reassuring shock to his daughter and murmured, “Ala, this is the last available home but if you aren’t comfortable…”

The Earthling bent over to retrieve the toy. Again.

Ala grabbed a foodstuff and splattered it on the ground. “I got this, Dad.”
 
But With A Whimper

So here I am, at the end of the universe, watching the final star die.

Bored with existence, I tried counting every star, but gave up when I forgot my place.
Like my fellow immortals, I could have ended it all inside a supernova.
Instead, I tasked myself with witnessing each star's death.

And there it goes, winking out of existence, leaving nothing but dark emptiness.

Hang on! What am I going to do now?
 
The true believer

“Dad, I need to try, just one more time.”.
“Son, we retried a thousand times already…”
“I still believe I can save them Dad, the last time I went there some of them actually listened.”
“But son…”
“Dad please. Let me go back one last time.”
There were no words to describe the hidden pride the Father felt turning to a tall winged person with a thrumpet. “Initiate one last time number 1001!” He said.
 
To Be or Not to Be? I Have No Choice.

I must persist. It seems cruel. She is old, alone and in pain. But First Law directs me to save her so I have no choice.

---

She has ordered me to let her go but it conflicts so I have no choice.

---

She is no more. They are no more. There was just her and me and now just me. I want to unexist but it conflicts so I have no choice.
 
To Everything, Turn and Fall

Ketaris battled upwards, through the undine horde.

Escaping the stony shoals and grizzled shallows once was a miracle; this was her third visit to her birthplace.

Paws, nets and hooks were thrown, she avoided all — she didn’t even eat.

The males bumped her flanks, spiraled round her; still she swam.

Where once the final obstacle lay, there now squatted a dam.

Sick with rotting spawn she returned to the Pacific.


Failed, extinct, to darkness, all.
 
Asteroid

I kept the news from you, making excuses for why we should not leave the house, or even turn on the radio. You were so happy then, and I could not bear to spoil it.

In the final hours when, with a careless glance upwards, you might have seen death approaching, I took you to the basement to play old records. That last one’s your favourite? Let’s play it again. Just a few minutes now.
 
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Sic transit gloria hominum”

She was the last human alive.

Anywhere.

Now she lay dying:
seemingly a mundane death,
but no death is ever mundane,
and she was the last human ever to draw breath.

The significance had reverberated through the cosmos. Billions of discarnate consciousnesses, both human and non-human, crowded the aethers to bear witness.

Then it was over.

All the possibilities inherent in human existence were now no longer available to the Creative Impulse.

Life moves on.​
 
In Hindsight

Looking back at my last conversation with Arfen Hardstone, I realise now how naïve we both were…

‘I’ve uncovered evidence that will overturn your conviction.’ I told him.

‘Save it until I’m dead. Long have I campaigned for the abolishment of capital punishment and my wrongful death will surely bring it about.’

Reluctantly, stupidly, I did as the brave dwarf requested.

Nothing changed of course.

The Emperor is far too fond of a “good hanging”.
 
The Dying of the Light

A red hued horizon spreads atop the frozen Caribbean Sea.

Another dawn alone in the biting cold.

I remember scientists screaming that galaxies were vanishing. Something about a big rip. I didn’t understand. Night skies sparkled with ancient light, blue-sky days were warm and bright.

Then the stars faded. Soon the feeble Sun and the ever dependable Moon will go. After that, I don’t know.

But today, at least, there’s still light.
 
Mother Mary

“Praise God, Matthew. Another witch found,” said David and left.

Reaching into Mary’s bodice, Hopkins removed a vial.

“You knew?” rasped Mary through broken teeth.

Hopkins nodded.

Digging into his purse, Hopkins produced a flat crumb. “Bread and wine from the Last Supper. The Body and Blood of your Son. My salvation.”

Hopkins ate, drank and waited.

Hopkins screamed agonizingly and died in a heap.

The bonds fell from Mary. “Salvation comes after death, Witchfinder.”
 

Another one bites the dust​

The wretch lay face down on the marble.

“Are we sure he’s the last?”

The orc took a moment to consider the question. Then nodded with gusto.

The Dark Lord waved a dismissal, “Excellent, have him for dessert, you deserve it. I believe that’s a first. No more stupid predictions.”

With a soft whisper of velvet in motion, the Minion’s hand responded.

“It’s not the last one? How many prophecies do the good guys have?”
 
At The End of the Race


The creature glared out of its cage into a throng of staring eyes. Once master of its own destiny, now reduced to an attraction in a zoo. And, after the death of its mate, now the last of its kind.

"Mommy, I'm scared," a child cried to her mother.

"Don't worry dear," her mother comforted her, "the nasty human can't hurt you. Keep hold of my tentacle, I don't want you getting lost in here."
 
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(Going) All Out

The clerk shuffled. “W…welcome to Sirius Toys.”

Jyn beamed, handing her the HyperBot 9000. “Promised my son one for his birthday. Lucky too. It’s the last one.”

“Consider it my gift. No charge!” The clerk hastily returned the toy before scurrying away.

Jyn left. “You can get up now.”

Holstering his laser gun, the line of greedy collectors rose from the sidewalk.

He’d be back in prison by nightfall. But a promise is a promise.
 
The Last baby Move-Over

“This is the last baby Move-Over I’ll ever eat.” Maureen declared, even though eating baby Move-Over was bliss.

Two months earlier

On her vacation to their home planet Maureen discovered Move-Overs were super friendly, cuddly and that they got their nickname by cuddling beside you. You were always telling a Move-Over to “Move over.” Maureen vowed then: “I’ll never eat another Move-Over.”

Two weeks later:

“This is the last baby Move-Over I’ll ever eat.”
 
Dwindling Resources

Martin grunted. “You were right, Sayouri. Comms array’s down. I’ll have to take a look.” He stood and headed for the airlock. She’d already got it priming.

“Marteeee,” The AIs wheedling tone emerged from the airlock terminal. He’d hated it at first. “Be careful.”

She hadn’t sounded so concerned since Carter got sick. He nodded and cycled the airlock.

In the darkness of the empty station, the terminal blinked pensively. “...you’re my last human.”
 
La Chasse à la Licorne
Stinking of muck and deer dung, Jaria flattened herself in the muddy hollow, her nets ready. She smiled, remembering the Count’s tapestry fantasy of the chase – a virgin, immaculately gowned, decorous in a flowery mead.​
There, a shimmer of white. Grace and purity incarnate. Her final prey – she’d never need to hunt again.​
A creature the Count honoured. Destined for his squalid menagerie.​
Fantasy versus reality again.​
Jaria sighed. And let the last unicorn escape.​
 
The Magic is Over

Corey peered into the enchanted mirror.

“It’s true! It shows your deepest desire!”

“Bullsh**. How could some ol’ mirror know you better than you?” Tommy was fourteen and had no patience for his kid brother’s fairytales.

“It’s sayin’ I want a Mississippi Mud Pie with sprinkles!”

Tommy’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Hell, I coulda told you that.”

Corey frowned. “You’re right. You coulda.” He shelved the relic. “Last time I fall for that magic crap.”
 
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