A short story
Pthurrrrrrrp.
The party horn let out a pathetic wheeze. The man sighed, letting it drop from his hand. If there were anybody else around it might have been funny. They might have cried “Encore!” and everyone would have laughed.
If there were anybody else.
He sighed again, slightly louder this time. “Why not. It’s my birthday,” He said, his voice rising. “who’s gonna stop me anyway!”
He sighed a third time, even louder. A real shout of a sigh. A small laugh followed it, “I guess being the last man on earth has its perks” He whispered.
The wind started picking up. He sat on the roof of his old home. Perhaps the last beer in existence in one hand. As the cold evening chill started settling in. He looked at the rough bonfire he had made, trying to muster the will to get up, to light the prepared fire.
“It is my birthday,” the man murmured, so quiet it was barely a thought.
He closed his eyes. It had been so long. He couldn’t even recall his name. He was sure he could if he tried, but there was no point now. There wasn’t anyone to tell it to.
He stood suddenly, almost losing his balance, lurching a few steps forward before steadying himself. The man was near the edge of the roof now. He looked out over the decayed town, this once bubble of civilisation. Only he knew of it now. Only the man left. Alone in the cosmos.
He turned again to the unlit bonfire. No, The unlit pyre. One last beacon for humanities existence. His hand groped around in his pocket, finally grasping the lighter there. He examined it up close, the green plastic, the last dregs of fuel sloshing about at its base.
The last man took the last drink from the last beer.
The last man closed his eyes for the last time.
