Inktober #26: Dark

What an astounding feeling.

Being here.

Surrounded by the dark.

With the only light left in the entire universe shining...but dimming. Slowly. A white dwarf star. It feels...appropriate. Meditative. Rather than exploding out into a massive supernova, the last burning star in the universe would simply leak out its heat into the expanse, and go quiet for the rest of eternity.

And I am here to witness it.

I can only think back to the first humans, the first apes, the first mammals, even the first light-sensitive cells that would eventually through trillions of years become me, feeling the warmth of their sun on Earth. Grasping ever towards it, yearning for its light and heat and energy. A feeling I can only guess at. Though the yearning is there, in its own way.

But how must it have been, having the comprehension first of their own death, then that all things must die, and then realizing that includes their very sun. That which sustains all life will too eventually pass away and take a couple planets with it. And then to expand that, even. To understand that eventually...this day, now, would come. All the stars will die. All heat will end. And without heat, the universe would run itself out, leaving nothing but rocks and dust with black holes for company.

I think of them, as I stand here, the last light of the universe bathing me.

It's almost time.

I stare straight into it.

I want to soak up every last photon. Every last chemical reaction. Every singular bit of heat I can.

And then it's gone.

And then there's silence.

And there is no more light.

An odd sensation, to be truly and suddenly blind for the first time. To be wrapped in a darkness so complete that it will never end. I have eyes. They see. Yet there is nothing there. Nothing but the last image burned into my memory of what light was.

The moment stretches on.

It feels like eternity lets out a breath, to rest.

I savor it.

The endless cold. The endless night. What a moment to live through. To live into.

And with that, a firefly of light pierces the black.

And another.

And a hundred more.

And the lights of the observation deck rise, and the crowd around sees each other. Joy spreads like a fire, as some look to those around them feeling like they're truly seeing everyone for the first time. Others look out to the last sun, which shines once again but with light pushed onto it from countless vessels there to bear witness to the end. There are congratulations, elations, embraces. And I think the humans of the past would look to us and be proud.

Past the heat death of the universe, we make light. We live. We continue on. We find our warmth where we can, with the rocks, and the dust, and the black holes, and each other, for company.