The Last Witness
"The Sea does not dream of you" - Steven Erikson

I stood by the shore, watching the waves, sole witness to the End. The water lapped up against my feet, no longer boiling but still painfully hot, asking a silent question I did not answer. I did not move. The water receded, dragging with it sand, shells, ash, and bone. Out on the horizon, the sea began to swell and foam. It would make landfall soon. Probably not far from where I stood. I didn't move. The sky was orange, the color of dying embers, spotted with doorways into night. Nothing had come through in months, but then, nothing had needed to. If I looked closely through one of those doorways, the celestial matter within would resolve itself into the empty high halls of Heaven. I did not look closely. I stood by the shore, watching the swell, last witness to the End. Behind me, nothing stirred. Nothing flowed through the ruined streets of my town. Nothing permeated the air where my family lived and died. Nothing remained, not even shadows. And nothing strode forward to stand beside me at the shore, and nothing sang to comfort me as I watched something rise from the sea. It almost looked human as it waded toward the shore, submerged to its hips out beyond the shelf. When the water reached only its knees, it stopped, its head so far above I could see only faint impressions of a face. Its flesh was silver-blue, and I couldn't tell if that was hair streaming down, or just seawater. It raised a webbed hand toward the sky, almost in benediction. I followed the motion, gazing up as it looked down. A face that was almost human, regarding me with… compassion. I could not bear to hold its gaze. I did not deserve what it offered, that… gift. I averted my eyes. I felt rain, thick and heavy on my skin. I smelled salt, and dared to look up again. It no longer looked at me, but up into the doorways that sat etched into the sky above us. In the high, empty halls of Heaven, something stirred, and I heard a sound like the gnashing of teeth and echoing footsteps. I felt a presence, a terrible majesty, a divine pressure. A white light and a pristine madness. And the doorways closed. The creature from the sea looked down to me again, and I felt its kind regard, its love that was not love. It returned to the sea. I stood by the shore, watching the waves, sole witness to the End. The water lapped up against my feet, now cold, asking a silent question. I answered. The water receded, taking with it sand, shells, ash, and bone. Nothing remained.
About the Creator
Hunter Wilson
Actor, writer, occasional dumbass.
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