The Last Human on Earth by Sophia Konoplytska

The sky was a hellish tapestry of reds,

the horizon was a line of fire and the air was filled with smoke. The world was burning. Large flakes of ash were falling down, covering what remained of Earth. Gaia thought that this is what a snowstorm probably used to look like. 

She had never seen the snow — Gaia was born years after the Earth ran out of its water supplies — but she saw the pictures in the old family photo album. She saw other things in the album as well — a beautiful green forest, a large lake, a big shiny black bird (her mother called it a crow) and a sunflower field. None of these things existed anymore in Gaia’s times, but she was raised to respect the past and even more — the univiting, scary, dangerous, toxic world she was brought into. 

Gaia was a short, weak and tiny human with thin hair and dry skin. She lost track of her years a while ago, but estimated herself to be about thirty (not a bad dying age for a human of her time). She was also the last human on Earth and the only witness of its death. Her chest burned from the dirty air, her bones were fragile and she barely had any muscle. However, much worse than the physical pains of her declining body was the ache in her heart, the weight of the guilt on her shoulders. She wasn’t there when humanity took everything too far and destroyed their own home, she wasn’t there when their selfishness drained the oceans, burned down forests and ruined the atmosphere, but as a human she felt the responsibility for what her kind has done. 

Gaia was standing alone in the ruins of the past, the only sound was that of the fire approaching. Knowing she had absolutely nowhere to go now, the woman sat on the ground and cried quietly, her body so dehydrated that not a single tear fell from her eyes. “I’m sorry” she whispered, though there was no one left to hear. As the fire and smoke grew stronger and her body became weaker, Gaia had to lay down. She was slowly dying. 

On the ground, only a few centimeters from her face, she suddenly noticed a tiny green plant. It was thin as a thread with only two little leaves sticking out. Gaia grasped for air. It was the first plant she had seen in ages. It was fragile and small, just like her, but still — alive. Her existence and her death suddenly had a new meaning. She curled up around the plant, covering it from the fire with her body. In her last moments, Gaia felt only her own heartbeat — but it was more than just that. It was the Earth’s heartbeat, too. She was not going anywhere. The Earth was alive, and she was bound to rise from her own ashes. The big gray flakes covered Gaia’s body. She was smiling.