Last Light

by Claire Kent

My grandma’s favorite song might still be beautiful, but it has no meaning anymore. Not after everything that’s happened. Or maybe… Maybe now it means even more. A hymn of faith at the end of the world.

I’ve known that life is hard since my parents died, and for four years I’ve known it’s even worse than that. It’s brutal. Merciless. It takes everything and rarely gives back. So I never expected to find this. Comfort at the end of the world.

I’m not sweet. Not anymore. Maybe I would have been if the world had stayed the same, but I haven’t had the luxury. I’ve been too busy staying alive.

When you’ve lost almost everything, you take hope wherever you find it. The salvation of the Mona Lisa. A spark of humanness at the end of the world.

It matters—even at the end of the world. Doing right by the people you love. I’ll hold on to him tonight. And I’ll let him go tomorrow.

There were three thousand people in my town before the asteroid hit. Now there are fifty, including me, Travis, and Anna. This is the world I live in now. People you love don’t remain.

“We all live our lives in just a snapshot of time. Maybe it was never the sun setting on us. Maybe it was always the sunrise.”