Winter wafted down from the trees, the vacant skies hang heavy, their misty fogs like the plumage of an osprey. Paul was alone, sitting on a bench, waiting for time to start again.
In the distance, there were echoes of a fight that happened in the past. How long ago, Paul couldn’t say, yet all the same he felt the heat of gunfire past his cheek.
What had the world become, that these skies show no starlight? That this fog carries no water? When had it rained last?
A wolf howled, with no reply. They two were the last in this world, awaiting their end, joining time in the endless void beyond the absent stars.
Paul could go there, leave this decomposing world behind, allow it to return to the dust. But he was scared. He didn’t know if time began where light ended. How could he snuff himself if there was nothing for him beyond? At least at time’s end he has the comfort of his thoughts, and the company of the distant wolf.
He was lonely, he wanted to see anyone again.
He howled. Maybe the wolf would come?
There was no reply.
Maybe the wolf could come, and take him away, grip deep into his flesh and let sweet rivulets paint the gray world a vibrant crimson.
He howled again.
No reply.
Howl.
Nothing.
Scream.
Nothing.
Beg.
Nothing.
There is nothing but his thoughts to fill the empty air.
He laughs, he is finally, truly alone.
From the dust, he heard the howl once again.
He collapsed to the ground, tears ran down his face, forming streaks of mud.
Thank God, he wasn’t alone; not yet.