The last crime against humanity

I am afraid I am the last of mankind and probably the last of all creations left in this world of sighs and weeping silence, left in the wake of the fury that nature unleashed upon us as the consequence of all the things we–or our predecessors–had done to the planet we call home.

There were only nine of us left towards the end that came in the form of every disaster known to mankind–only bigger, more powerful and devastating. Somehow, the nine of us crept into this bunker in the most unlikely part of the world, at the edge of a city that was doomed by the most powerful earthquake to have ever taken place, leaving almost nothing up on its feet anymore. This bunker, or basement of a former establishment, somehow remained untouched under the heaps of debris and by the chance of fate or whatever it is, we, the last of the civilization or the last of the species, discovered and holed in here for seven days and seven nights, praying to the almighty to have mercy upon us and let us build things from scratch again. I am not entirely sure but in all probability our prayers might have been heard, for after seven days and seven nights the apocalypse outside finally waned to a tranquility unknown to us, with an eerie silence that seemed to engulf us as we stepped outside on the eighth day.

How we survived all those days was a mystery. There was not much food left, and the other men stressed that we save the seeds of anything there was so as to find a way to grow those and harvest them for future consumption. I did not know if that would have worked but human beings are, deep inside, perhaps more optimistic than we realize.

The nine survivors included seven men, a woman, and I, a boy of 13 who had just begun understanding bits and pieces of how the world worked before it fell apart all of a sudden. We were all unknown to each other, but we ended up sticking together for the last few days in this basement in silence, and somehow prevailed through the hunger, thirst, fear and despair that ravaged us from within.

Once the end ended, we stepped outside and breathed deeply. The air smelt of dust, but still it was a relief that doomsday was finally behind us. But little did we know of the script written on how things would end, nor did we have any way to prevent it.

The woman, the only one left alive after all that had happened, provided me with, even amid all this, a motherly affection and a feeling of protection that helped me get by in the last few days. A beautiful woman in all respects, she had turned pale from the ordeal we went through, but still her warmth had filled me with the strength and the will to live a bit longer, until as long as it meant anything at all that is. But then, the real wrath of nature fell unto us in the way that we, the last of the species, failed to foresee.

Once relief had finally settled in, the other seven men–I have no idea how they could choose to do so–decided to celebrate, and in this trying time when nothing was left. The only way they chose to do this was probably written or imprinted in our genes–a wild frenzy of carnal expressions filled their faces. With the last of the opposite sex in front of them, who refused to let them have her willingly, their manhood was burning with humiliation and rage, on top of which was their insatiable desire and the feeling of rejuvenation flowing through their veins. They took turns on her like a pack of wolves, hungry after a long winter, and left her pale, fragile body bleeding till there was no more left to spill and no breath left to breathe, and before they realized what they had done, the female sex of our species had become extinct, left bruised, battered, torn apart from the inside and out, and too weak to fight back against her impending death, and in course of it, that of the entire human race.

Once she died, I could see the facades of the men crumble to reveal their true selves–sick and scared, with guilt written all over their faces. Finally, the true meaning of 'apocalypse' unfolded before them, before us, and we had only ourselves to blame.

Then they fell to their knees and sank to the ground in the face of an imminent end of existence and the guilt of having caused it themselves. What if this was the last test left for us to pass, before the almighty would have let us begin afresh? And we had failed miserably. We had failed to recognize the real lifeline we had before us, and before we could, the seven men had forced themselves inside her in a state of utter frenzy, to satisfy their savage lust and burning desire. And by the time they had returned to their senses, all was undone.

The other seven were then so filled with grief and guilt that they began ending their lives themselves, one after another. Even the seventh, the oldest of the lot who had the most resolve to try to console himself for a while could no longer manage and so, in the end, stabbed his heart with the very glass shard that he had held against the woman's throat while raping her. If only he knew she would rather die at his hand with her throat slit rather than bleed to death after being scavenged by them. But alas, they had gagged her with a piece of cloth stuffed inside her mouth and had tied her hands from behind to prevent any sort of protest, leaving her tear filled eyes to convey the message to them. Irony? Be that as it may, but that is what I think it is.

Now what do I do? All alone in this vast world, and knowing that there is no hope or point of surviving, should I take my own life too? I don't know that yet, but that might be the ultimate conclusion.

But before I do so, I need to leave something behind to let any future creation decipher how we brought forth our own downfall and perhaps give them the chance to learn from our mistakes.

After all, it was our failure to learn from the countless lessons that eventually wrote the script for our doom.