The ascended one rises up towards the sky and looks to the horizon. He can see city after city and factory after factory. He can see fields of fallen trees. He grows tired. Black smoke plagues the breeze. His body of energy feels sadness, but there were no tears. He grows even more tired. Black smoke still plagues the breeze. No birds in the beautiful skies this morning. He grows tired ever more. Black smoke still plagues the breeze. His mother is sleeping and dreaming of better days. He is near collapse. Black smoke still plagues the breeze. In her rest she weeps and slips under the line between the living and the dead. Black smoke will always plague the breeze.
Red, red, red the sun appears as it comes out from hiding. Madness, madness, madness is the child’s disease.
He temporarily silenced the chirping of transistors and squeaking of poorly oiled joints and gears. The chirping slowly returns, but never the loud boom of a heartbeat. His energy has all been used up. Nothing but the void is left for him.
He finds little comfort left in the universe. He drifts to the Sun, and waits a while. Gazing back at his beautiful mother Earth in wake.
The machines live off of what’s left of the corpse. In a single decade, no chirping is left. Earth grows quiet. Her seas of life turn to fields of crystallized salt and her land rots and dries into jet black deserts where life cannot be found. Earth is silent.
After mourning the death of all things he had ever held dear, he finally weeps and his tears extinguish the Sun. He lays flat on the mass staring - staring out into the great expanse as the stars burn out - one by one.
No birds in the skies anymore. Their wings were severed decades ago and they lived wretched lives. They crawled on the filthy ground as vermin and exhale vile smoke laced with disease. No one is left to see the fields of fallen trees. No one left to grow tired. No heartbeats anymore. All hearts of man have shriveled into obsidian. No gods left in the heavens. The last of the stars finally burn out. No more energy. No more sound. The only thing left was an eternal memory carved in stone. A memory of black smoke that once plagued the breeze.
Earth is silent.
Earth is dead.
He watches, and watches, and watches. There will never be light again.
Only the knowledge he still has, and nothingness.
I know this is not the place for short stories and whatnot, but it is the last few paragraphs of my book that I may never finish - I at least wanted to share it here so someone else could read it if it is never finished. It is based off of a seven chapter short story I wrote when I was about 18. It is the hardest thing I have told myself to do. Hopefully, it will be done someday. Some poetry I write is about this character, as I put myself into my work, so it is also a reflection of me in a few ways.