Deviation Actions
Literature Text
The barren landscape did not hint of an invitation to anyone or anything. Grass had long ago given way to dusty dirt. The remnants of a forest bordered the bare ground. The air would blow teasingly around, but not enough to be called a breeze, or really stir anything.
A sole person walked across the plateau. He was of medium height and slight build; the latter most likely could be attributed to a meager diet. He wore a tattered overcoat over his t-shirt and jeans, as protection from the sun. A wide brimmed hat protected his head. A shepherd mix dog walked beside him.
He approached the forest, but in the middle of the sandy range, he knelt. The dog stopped, and sat beside him, as he scooped up some dirt.
“Dry sand,” he muttered, as he opened his hand and watched the fistful he took pour smoothly back to the ground. The few larger grains that remained in his hand were held by his own skin's moisture. Frowning, he stood and dusted his weathered hands.
The dog followed him to the standing trees. They stood bare, but not as though they had recently shed. The standing pines had long ago stopped producing sap, and the needles rested on the ground so long that they made a carpet-like layer that could only be rolled up en masse. The man's footfalls were muffled on what sounded like the hollow ground below, where the roots of the trees above had spread. Around him, the trees creaked under their weight.
He looked forward to his destination. From what he remembered, there was fresh water on the other side of the trees. There, he could rest. In the meantime, as he journeyed, he moved in such a way that conserved energy. The dog walked alongside him, panting happily, and waving her tail upward.
The man and dog emerged on the other side of the dead trees. He looked around, disappointed. Dilapidated lake cabins sparsely dotted an area where the shore of a pond used to be. They were now about 50 meters away from the lake's perimeter.
A short walk later, he was looking at the remains of the lake. It had an inlet and an outlet, from what he could see, so the water could flow and conceivably refresh itself. Still, it brought no life to the bald shoreline. The dog sniffed the water, somewhat timidly. After assuring herself it was safe, she eagerly began lapping a drink.
The man chuckled. “I guess if it's good enough for you, it's good for me.” Even so, he intended to clean it as much as he could.
Later in the evening, after settling was done, the man wrote.
#
I've stopped counting the days, long ago. Has it been weeks? Months? It's shocking that I could be the only one around. Hard to believe, really. It's been years since the Event. I've been wandering since then. Funny how things change in the blink of an eye. One moment, I'm part of a huge society, so insignificant in the bigger picture, that I could be ignored. Living a comfy, easygoing life. The next moment – well, over the course of about a year – I'm the only human left, and nobody's around to notice. Now I wander from place to place, searching for food. Maybe even for another person. The old history books say the first humans were nomads. Now I know why.
I wonder if anyone ever thought that the last humans would be nomadic? Maybe we really didn't think there ever would be an end. Yet, here I am. Watching it. Becoming part of it.
It's hard to believe. Nobody knew what happened. I don't know what happened. Maybe it's foolish, but I've carried with me, every bit of information I can find about the Event. I carry it with the supplies I have to carry. I know that survival teachers always said not to carry more than what you need, but I had to try to understand it. There's a part of me that hopes I eventually will, or that I can find someone to explain it to me. I look at the information now and again, but I can't understand it. I kept the articles because I thought I'd eventually understand them. I probably never will. I'm not even sure I'll find another person, let alone someone who understands the information.
I guess I don't even know why I'm even keeping this journal. I suppose, sometimes, it's something to do. A fight against insanity. Something I can look at, later on. Maybe there's a bit of me that doesn't want to give up hope. Maybe there's another human. Maybe we'll meet, share stories, and at least enjoy some company. Maybe aliens will land equipment here, like we've done with so many other planets, and find all this stuff and get excited that earth once had life. The aliens'll pop their corks in celebration.
Maybe it'll be aliens that find the last of the humans. They'll probably wonder at the find. Maybe they'll figure it out. And the Event.
And maybe that last bit is grand, unrealistic hope. That I'll survive. That I'll survive my own death, in a way. Leave something for the future.
Something to keep my mind off reality, I suppose. Really, deep down, I don't see much of a future. It really scares me. Everything seems to be decaying into nothingness. The scary thing is, really, once this ends, it's done. There's no second chance, nothing else. I'm not sure what scares me more: the notion of being finished, no longer alive, dead – not existing; or the notion of forever.
When I look up, there seems to be less and less stars, and it's not from lights down here. It's like something cosmic is turning out the lights, and it scares me.
Moments like that are why I'm glad I found a dog. I hope I find another. She's a good, smart girl. She keeps me company and doesn't let me get too scared. I worry what I'd do sometimes. It's scary how the human mind works, and what it could do … I'm glad the dog is with me.
More stars gone tonight.
Hey, aliens? If you ever see this, humans aren't bad. You just have to teach us right. (In case you want to bring back the species).
#
The man took off his hat, and stretched on the ground under the sky. The empty vastness intimidated him, so he set his backpack on a side. The dog came to his side and laid down against him. They both sighed.
The man cringed in fear before he slept, being overwhelmed by the obviously approaching end.
If an individual were the last person on the planet, what would be going through his mind, other than "food, water, shelter"?
I suppose it would depend on the situation.
I did want to convey that he is right when he notices the decay around him. I actually got the idea from an episode of Doctor Who, titled Hide. He had to travel to a decaying universe to rescue something. I considered using the trope of the decaying world being basically an island of land in the midst of nothing. However, I decided to just make it a full world, but nothing's alive. Somehow the dog is. Somehow, the guy is. And he writes about his fears, of what happens when not only he is done here, but when everything is done. He may seem a bit self contradictory in his journal, but if you consider he sees everything around him as dead, and has only a dog for companionship, that would drive even the best of minds insane, very quickly. He realizes what's happening, but copes by imagining maybe there's another person out there, and maybe other creatures will come later and see his legacy.
Usually I come up with a few questions, but I just want to say here, I hope you enjoy. Was it scary? At least thought provoking?
Please, feel free to share comments.
Thank you.
First, let me say that you paint a wonderful picture. The way you set the scene did a fantastic job of giving us the idea of an abandoned earth. One thing: dusty dirt is a bit of a repetition. You could have said “dusty earth,” “dust” or “dirt”, though, if you’re looking for suggestions on how to change it. I also got a bit tripped up by the phrase “shepherd mix dog.” I would have worded it “shepherd dog mix,” although that one could be more of my personal preference. I rather enjoy the contradictory nature of the journal. I think that humanity is, of itself, rather contradictory in many ways, so having him contradict himself just makes him more human, I think. And when you feel like you have no hope, that is when you dream the biggest, it seems. It’s the time when imagination is most essential: “Perhaps I’ll be rescued by aliens,” “Perhaps I’ll meet another human,” “Perhaps I’ll find another dog”. Those are just his basic need for companionship and desire to survive coming through in his entry, which I think is a very realistic way for him to have written it. If he believed in God, perhaps he’d be wondering if God would rescue him. This is a fascinating work, and it makes me want to ask a lot of questions… most of them, probably the same ones he has. What was the event? How did the entire world population die, save for this one man and this one dog? What is there about the two of them that keeps them going when there is no vegetation and the earth will no longer yield its fruit to them? And why are the stars dying? Just such an interesting world you created here and it’s fun to ask questions about it! Thank you for writing this - it was an enjoyable read and you did a good job of making it sound like a scary situation to be in. (And yes, certainly thought-provoking!)
This critique brought to you by The Jolly Old Roger, Merry Critmas!
(Also I love that you referenced Dr Who haha)