The Sand

The old man moved his knight forward, taking the pawn in front of it. Sand fell slowly through the hour glass on the table. The old man wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. His eyes glanced from the chess board to the hour glass.

“If it's making you nervous, I can move it,” the younger man said. The old man shook his head.

“No... no. I need the reminder,” the old man said. He looked out the nearby window. Complete and utter blackness lay beyond. He chuckled.

“Did you know that I'd found an old archive once? It had songs and lyrics and poems. It kept referencing a sky full of stars. Can you imagine that?” the old man mused aloud.

The younger man just smiled.

“You know what I miss most?” the older man said. The younger man just looked at him.

“Vladmard. It was a flavored paste mixed on a pressed rice cracker. Now all that's left is freeze dried remnants of what used to be food.... I've seen pictures though...” the older man continued. The younger man moved his bishop. The old man looked thoughtfully.

“Food. All sorts. I don't recall what any of it was called. Before the last of the stars went out of course. We still grew somethings in our green houses... or so I've been told. I've never seen a real plant...” the old man moved his rook. The younger man smiled. The old man looked out the window again.

“My father was still here before the last one blinked out. I don't know how far away it was. Just that it's gone now. It's been so dark since,” the old man paused as the generator whirred and the lights flickered briefly. The old man looked nervously around.

“Is that how I'll go I wonder? Will I freeze to death?”

The young man said nothing. The old man nodded. The young man moved his bishop, taking the old man's rook from the board. The old man pursed his lips.

“I don't think I want to play anymore.”

“We don't have to if you don't wish,” the young man replied pleasantly. The old man coughed a few times. He gripped the table. He looked back outside. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“Is something wrong?” the young man asked.

“It's just... it's like I miss something that was never there. Or that I never knew. Mankind supposedly lived all over the universe once. There were zillions of us throughout the cosmos. Great civilizations. Empires. Fleets of sleek ships. All I've ever known is my small family. And I've had to put everyone of them through the vacuum shoot when they passed. I miss them. Father. Grandpa. Mum...” the old man trailed off. For a few moments it looked as though he might be sleeping. Then he looked up at the younger man.

“Could you tell me about it?” he asked.

“About what?” asked the younger man in reply.

“Humans. What were we like? As a people?” the old man asked.

“That's a difficult question to answer. Sort of akin to 'what's weather like.' You had great societies of wealth and prosperity. You had poor, starving places full of disease and misery. You had people who strove for better lives for their people and others who wanted only to kill and control. You were a mixed lot really,” the younger man said. The old man nodded.

“Besides, you've been reading these stories for years,” the young man finished.

“Yes, but it's nice to hear them from somebody who was there,” the old man said. The young man nodded. They were both quiet a moment. The generator sputtered. The lights flickered. Then it all went dark and silent. Darker and quieter than anyone else had ever known in history. Not a star in the infinite blackness outside. Not a sound, save for the trickling of the sand in the hour glass. The old man couldn't believe he could actually hear it. He coughed again.

“We never finished are game,” he said.

“No, we didn't,” the younger man replied from the darkness. The old man could not see him, but he could feel him. He could feel that if he saw the young man now, he'd see something very different than when the lights were on. Something that might terrify him.

A match struck suddenly, and a candle was lit upon the table. The old man could see the young man dimly. The faint orange light danced across his face. Something about the young man's face looked like he was see through yet all too real all at the same time. The old man could feel the cold creeping into his bones. His nose began to ache. The old man began to sob.

The young man sat down next to him. The old man sniffed.

“I shouldn't be crying,” the old man said.

“Who says?” the young man answered and smiled. The old man smiled despite himself. The old man shrugged.

“I figured I should try to go out with some dignity... being the last one and all,” the old man said.

“I'd say you've done quite well,” the young man said. The old man smiled.

“It's nice of you to say so. It means a lot really, coming from you.”

Another few moments of silence.

“Since I am the last, do you get to tell me what happens?” the old man asked hopefully.

“I'm afraid not,” the young man replied.

“And when I'm gone. What happens to you?”

“I suppose I'll find out,” the young man said. There was a sadness to his voice that had never been there before. The old man turned his head.

“You don't know?” the old man asked incredulously, his voice a whisper. The young man shook his head. The old man reached out and took the young man's hand. They looked into each other's eyes. The old man marveled at the young man's eyes. Despite his apparent youth, there was an ancient endlessness to his eyes.

“I'm... I'm glad you came. To sit with me, at the end...” the old man rasped. He couldn't feel his nose anymore. He couldn't feel his fingers either. The young man smiled. The old man's head bobbed, suddenly heavy. His eyelids fell.

“We...never finished our game...” he said with a wheeze, and then said no more. The young man patted the older man's hand.

“No, we did not.”

The old man slid from the chair onto the floor. The young man shook his head.

'Dignity' he thought. In the end, there was just death.

The young man pick up the old man's chair, turned it over and put it atop the table. He did the same with his own. Then he looked around, blew out the candle, and let himself out.