The Last

July 8?, 2042

“Knox, get down, NOW!”

As soon as the sentence registered in my head, my knees buckled as I crumpled to the floor. I looked back at my mother who was an ephemeral ghost in a harsh beam of white-blue light. For a brief second, her eyes locked onto mine. My heart stopped.

“They found us.”

--

July 30?, 2042

I slowly became aware of my body. A wet pain blossomed on the crown of my head. My eyelids blinked to life. I raised my hand to the source of the searing. Blood. And debris. Like a lazy sunrise, the realization of where I was, what happened, dawned on me.

Mother. She was on the ground. Motionless in the surrounding rubble.

She wasn’t breathing. She was still. Too still. I remember shaking her in disbelief. Nothing. No warmth, no light. No life.

It was a year ago yesterday. It keeps playing. Over and over. Awake or asleep. It’s hard to tell anymore. I have been alone here, in our rotting shelter that my family built generations ago.

All I have left of my mother, of her kind radiance, is the metal locket she wore around her neck. I can still hear her telling me, “Knox, baby, if anything happens to me, take my locket. Protect it. It tells the story of our people.” I miss her voice. I can sometimes hear her whisper to me like when she was alive.

--

September...? 2042

I am now the last. The story of our people is my responsibility. What kind of legacy can we have? We are hated and hunted. Peace could not be achieved with the aliens. We attempted to reach them to let them know we mean no harm, to offer shelter and community, friendship.

But they attacked. The ones who didn’t die in the first contact were stalked, murdered. Every last family, including mine, my mother. I can only guess that they thought I died too. A part of me wishes I had. But I have to protect our story. I have no choice.

--

November? 2042

It’s been so long since I’ve spoken with anyone. Since my voice had a place to land. I didn’t utter a word for weeks at a time.

The locket is safe. I never take it off.

I heard the distant hum of a large machine yesterday. Maybe a foreign aircraft of some kind. I made a hiding place with the rubbish of what was left of my family’s home. It might work if they are far away. But if they get close, there is no hiding.

--

January-February 2043

The rations are almost gone. I am almost gone. I have to find food, liquids. I can’t give up. For my family. For my people.

--

February-March? 2043

I heard the mechanical hum again today. It was closer. I don’t know what to do anymore. Mother would tell me to believe in myself. I believed in her and she died. How could she leave me?

--

To Pack:

1. Flashlight

2. The remaining rations

3. Father’s club (the one with the spikes)

4. Father’s map of the desert & map of the state

5. Diary Journal and writing implement

--

Summer of 2043?

I’m writing in a tree. I left the shelter in search of more rations. I heard the hum. I climbed the tree. It saved me. The hum is farther away. I am going to stay here for a while. I can’t let them see me. The sun is going down. I should sleep here.

--

2043?

The hum is back. I made it a bit farther into the terrain. It’s rocky. And hot. The desert is 20 miles to the south east. It sounds like that’s where the hum is.

There’s a lake 40 miles to the south. Father always told me, my Mother, and my siblings to go to the lake if anything happened to him. I didn’t know how far away it was then.

--

“Sir, the target is neutralized,” reported the military officer in black.

The commander took a drag off his cigarette. He remained facing the target.

“The last one,” he uttered with pride and incredulity, not looking at the officer in black. They finally won.

“Sir, there’s something you should see.”

The man flicked his cigarette. A cascade of ashes dissipated in the hot wind. He followed the inferior officer into a canvas tent.

His troops turned their heads to face him. Eyes were wide in disbelief. But there was something else in their eyes. He couldn’t place it.

He heard it before he saw it. A projection of them, the others, on the canvas of the tent. A soldier held the heart shaped locket which acted as the projector.

“Hello, People of Earth! We are here in peace. We will not harm you. We are from anotherplanet in this galaxy. We have studied your planet for hundreds of your Earth years. We saw that your climate is rising at an unusual rate. That happened on our planet several thousands of years ago. We want to share this technology with you in exchange for a small piece of land for our people. You see, our people are dying. To survive, we need to leave our world. We are happy to share our advanced technology if you can offer a small, uninhabited piece of land. We will do everything we can to assist your people. We have sent our healthiest members. Unfortunately, the rest of us will perish.

Please, People of Earth. We will do everything we can to help you in return.”

The man flicked his cigarette absentmindedly before he spoke.

“Burn it. Burn every trace of this.”