The Last Sunrise

It wasn’t anything like what was depicted in the stories Aava heard as a child-- the ones passed down from generation to generation dating all the way back to the thirty-thousandth century. The sky wasn’t a graceful blend of soft azures and bold purples and pinks, there was no golden glow that seemed to light the trees on fire, and the thickness of her protective suit prevented her from feeling either the chill of the last few minutes of night, or the warmth of the oncoming day. Instead, the light of the expanding sun ignited the radiation-filled atmosphere in a shocking sheet of nauseous orange, its flames licked the scorched Earth with literal fire, and the only warmth she felt was from the incalculably hot waves of heat emitted from the dying star. 

The Earth had not seen such a sunrise as the ones told in stories for many billions of years, but since this was the very last one it would ever have, Aava found it beautiful all the same. 

Even if she was the only one to witness it. 

~*~*~*~

In all reality, humans were not even supposed to have made it so far. The Earth, a shriveled, barren husk of its former self, was inhospitable even to the smallest of microbes, much less a complex lifeform like man. But human ingenuity knows no limits, and over the past eight billion years, it grew exponentially, consuming new knowledge and philosophies that aided in mankind’s oldest and most driving instinct: survival. Therefore, evacuation of the Earth began over two billion years ago, right when the sun first began to expand and living became difficult. The planet humanity made its new home had been discovered in the early sixty-third century and was a safe eighty-two light-years away from the reaches of the sun’s future supernova. They called it Kataphygio, and there, hopes for a new chapter of mankind could be reached, with new horizons to explore and new discoveries to be made. 

But there were still those who chose to stay on Earth until the very end, even with titanic earthquakes, volcanoes, and super-weather-- even after all animal and plant life went extinct, the oceans evaporated, and temperatures rose to levels that could boil flesh right off of bones. This was their home, after all, and it only seemed right to share in its final moments.

Aava was one such person and even in her old age (she was nearing 700) she still felt a fierce love for her planet and a great reluctance to part with it. This was reflected in the way she governed the Autarkein Clan, the last settlement of humans to remain on Earth when all others either fled or died out. For nearly three generations, their survival on their brutally hostile home depended solely on Aava’s wisdom, guidance, and iron will.  

But even this final scrap of civilization eventually left in the end, abandoning Aava in pursuit of a new, fresh life on Kataphygio, free from the constant threat of extinction. They begged and pleaded for their leader to join them, saying that their dear Earth had exhausted all that she had to offer; that it was time to let nature take its course. Yet the old woman refused and loudly rebuked them. “Wicked, ungrateful children,” she cried as her family and friends began to prep the tele-portal that would take them to their new home. “After all the good Earth has done for you—all the life, all the gifts, all the history—you abandon her when she has nothing else to give! You betray her! Off to leach the life out of another poor planet like the parasite humanity is! Did we not once consider ourselves rulers of this world? Then let us go down with our ship like the captains of old-- with honor!”

But there was no convincing them. Even when they averted their eyes in shame and sadness, unable to meet the blistering gaze of the fearless woman, they knew their lives were too steep a price to pay for upholding her outdated principles. Survival instincts won out against loyalty to their matriarch and to the Earth. In four minutes’ time, all tele-portal connections between Earth and Kataphygio would be terminated and anyone left behind would be destined to share in the fate of the dying planet.

One by one, Aava’s sons, daughters, nephews, nieces, cousins, in-laws, friends, and generations of grandchildren walked by her in a solemn procession and passed through the tele-portal, hearts heavy yet resolved.  To leave behind the woman who they owed their very lives was a grim decision to make, but one which was necessary.  And when they reappeared only moments later under the light of a healthy star and saw organic plants growing out of rich soil, a vast unpoisoned ocean teeming with aquatic life, and a whole civilization of humans who needed no protection against the oxygen-rich atmosphere, they knew they made the right choice.

At last, time ran out and the tele-portal gave a low whine and ceased to function. The fates of the people on either side of its door were sealed, one destined for life, the other for death. Aava stood for several more moments, anger and disappointment stewing in her old heart. To be abandoned by her own clan was a mortifying insult, but for them to desert their own planet was an inexcusable offense. 

But none of that would matter soon enough. 

Donning a protective suit, Aava turned and strode away from the portal and away from her now empty settlement. The barren wasteland of sun-bleached rock and dust stretched endlessly in all directions, featureless and lifeless. The sky above was a muddy brown in the fading night, but no stars were visible. Once, long ago, Aava had hated that bleak landscape and dreary sky, desiring the blues and greens depicted in Earth’s ancient records. But as she grew older and wiser, she realized that longing for a youthful Earth was just as senseless as pining after her own youthful form.

As the first rays of the bloated star became visible on the horizon, Aava sat down on the peak of what must have once been a mighty mountain, now laid low by erosion. There, she watched the molten surface of the sun churn with expanding gasses and followed, with her eyes, each flare as they peeled away and seared the ground. She watched the moon dissolve into vapor as it wandered too close to the sun’s approaching fury. She felt her protective suit cease to function, unable to cope with the intensifying temperatures and radiation of the surrounding air. 

No, this last sunrise was nothing like the ones told in stories, but it was beautiful all the same.