The Last Human

Mara had long stopped keeping track of the days. Weeks? Months? Years? Time had lost meaning in the unchanging monotony of her life. Each sunrise brought more of the same—a vast emptiness, an unyielding silence. Yet she continued, driven by a stubborn instinct to survive.

She still remembered the day the world had ended. It had started like any other: the slow crawl of morning traffic, the distant clatter of a coffee shop, the chatter of passersby as she walked to the library. She was in the middle of a novel, its plot so engrossing she could still recall fragments of it—a story of redemption, a man finding his way back to hope. She never got to finish it.

The flash came first. A brilliant, searing light that turned the midday sky into a false dawn. She barely had time to register it before the sound hit, a deafening roar that shook the ground and sent her sprawling onto the sidewalk. When she woke, hours later, the city was in ruins. Buildings leaned at precarious angles or lay in heaps of rubble. Fires burned unchecked, their smoke curling into a gray sky. And there were no people. No bodies, no signs of life. Just... nothing.

For the first few days, she convinced herself it was temporary. Rescue teams would come, or she’d find survivors if she just kept looking. She wandered the wreckage, calling out until her throat was raw, leaving messages scrawled on walls and roads.

"I’m here. Mara. Please."

No one answered.

Now, two years later, Mara’s scavenging brought her to the outskirts of the city. It was the same grim routine: sift through rubble, check abandoned stores, search for anything useful. Food, water, batteries—her survival kit was a mismatched collection of salvaged odds and ends. It was enough to keep her going. Barely.

The supermarket was a husk of its former self. The automatic doors hung askew, their glass panels shattered. Shelves that had once been neatly stocked with colorful packages were now barren. Still, Mara searched, knowing that persistence sometimes paid off. Beneath a collapsed display rack, she found a single can of soup, its label faded but intact. She smiled, a rare and fleeting expression, as she tucked it into her bag.

In the back room, she made her most exciting discovery in weeks: a radio. It was bulky, outdated—a relic from the era of cassette tapes. But it looked intact. She brushed the dust off, careful not to damage it, and carried it back to her makeshift shelter in an abandoned apartment building.

That night, under the flickering light of a candle, Mara tried the radio. She twisted the dials, her hands trembling with anticipation. Static crackled to life, filling the room with its grating monotony.

“Hello?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Is anyone out there?”

The static continued.

She spent hours trying, adjusting the antenna, switching frequencies, speaking into the void. Her hope waned with every passing moment until, finally, she set the radio down and curled up in her blanket. The silence returned, and it felt heavier than ever.

Days passed, then weeks. Mara carried the radio with her, trying it in different locations, always listening, always hoping. But the outcome was the same. Static. Nothing. She began to wonder if it was broken, if her desperation had blinded her to its futility.

Her dreams started to change. Where once she dreamed of familiar faces—her mother, her friends, even strangers from her old life—she now dreamed of shadows. She wandered endless hallways, pursued by whispers she couldn’t understand, and woke with her heart racing. The line between dreams and reality grew blurry, the desolation of her waking hours bleeding into her subconscious.

One day, Mara stumbled upon something unexpected. She had ventured further than usual, driven by a need to escape the oppressive sameness of her surroundings. On the edge of the city, she found a park.

It was remarkably intact, as though the destruction had skirted around it. The grass was overgrown but lush, dotted with wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. A single tree stood in the center, its branches heavy with bright green leaves. The sight was so jarring, so out of place, that Mara froze. She approached slowly, half-expecting it to vanish.

Beneath the tree, she found something even more astonishing: a footprint. It was faint, pressed into the soft soil, but unmistakable. Her heart raced as she crouched to examine it. It was human—unmistakably human.

“Someone’s alive,” she whispered. The words sounded foreign in her own voice.

She spent the next few hours combing the area, calling out, searching for any sign of the person who had left the footprint. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, she was forced to admit defeat. She returned to her shelter, clutching the radio like a lifeline, and stared at it for hours before finally turning it on.

That night, something changed.

Mara woke to a sound she hadn’t heard in two years: voices.

It started faint, a murmur on the edge of hearing, but it grew louder. She sat up, her heart pounding, and scanned the room. The radio was off. The voices weren’t coming from it—they were coming from outside.

She rushed to the window and froze. The world beyond the glass had transformed. The city, once a crumbling wasteland, was alive. Lights glowed in the windows of buildings that had been dark for years. Streets thrummed with the movement of people, their laughter and conversation carrying on the warm night air.

“Mara!” A voice called her name. She turned, and her breath caught. It was her mother, standing in the doorway of the room. Her mother, who had been gone for so long, was here, alive and smiling.

“You’re finally awake,” her mother said, stepping forward. She opened her arms, and Mara collapsed into them, sobbing.

“I thought... I thought everyone was gone,” Mara choked out.

Her mother stroked her hair. “You were dreaming, sweetheart. A long, bad dream. But you’re safe now.”

For days, Mara lived in this dreamlike world, unsure if it was real or if she had finally lost her grip on sanity. The city was vibrant, bustling with life. Her friends, her family, everyone she had thought lost, were here. They welcomed her back without question, as if nothing had happened.

But something felt off. The edges of her vision blurred at times, and voices sounded distorted, like echoes. At night, she dreamed of the ruined city, of the silence and the void. She woke drenched in sweat, unable to shake the feeling that she didn’t belong here.

One day, as she wandered the park—the same park where she had found the footprint—she saw it again. The tree, the wildflowers, the single footprint in the soil. But now, there was something else: a figure standing beneath the tree.

She approached cautiously, her heart pounding. The figure was tall and cloaked in shadow, their features indistinct.

“Who are you?” Mara asked.

The figure didn’t respond. Instead, they pointed to the ground at her feet. She looked down and saw another footprint, this one fresh. When she looked up, the figure was gone.

The world began to unravel. The vibrant city faded, its colors bleeding into gray. The voices of her loved ones grew distant, their faces blurring. Mara fought to hold on, clinging to this fragile reality.

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

But it was too late.

Mara woke with a start, her body trembling. She was back in the ruined apartment, the radio sitting silent and still beside her. The city outside was dark and lifeless, just as it had been for years.

Tears streamed down her face as she realized the truth. The bustling city, the laughter of her friends and family—it had all been a dream. A cruel, fleeting illusion.

She sat in silence for what felt like hours, the weight of loneliness settling over her once again. But as the first light of dawn crept through the broken window, something stirred inside her.

She wasn’t ready to give up.

The dream, as fleeting and painful as it was, had reminded her of something she had forgotten: hope.

She picked up the radio and turned it on. The static greeted her like an old friend, but this time, she didn’t despair.

“I’m here,” she said, her voice steady. “If anyone’s out there, I’m here.”

And somewhere, far beyond the reach of the static, she imagined a voice answering.