Survivors were mere witnesses. A scattering of stragglers. No one would ever hear their brief stories. There were no more stories. A few desperate actions remained to be unrecorded and unremarked upon. Narrative had ended. Everything mankind had done and built and known was redundant, discarded. The world was a landfill. He found that the hardest thing to accept: that nothing would be commented upon again, nor processed. It just was. And then something else would continue in the place of his species.
