The Last of Our Kind

Author: Rena Hollister

I’ve watched plenty of animals go extinct. Watched as the polar bears sank with the ice, as monkeys fell to the earth without their trees, as the last rumbles of elephant feet faded away. I’ve watched storms tear apart my town, flood the streets I grew up in. I watched my world melt and fall away piece by piece. Now it’s just me. Blue veins trace their way through my aging hands as I sit under the last of the trees, staring up at a grey and smoky sky. Skinny dogs scavenge around me, sniffing at my soon-to-be corpse. When I die, humanity dies with me. Maybe humanity died a long time ago.

I think about the creatures of legend and how they must have felt. Much like me, I suppose. The last woolly mammoth wandering without a herd, dying in fear and loneliness. Or the last passenger pigeon, alone in captivity. Or the last seal, blubber now a hindrance in the warm ocean. I’ve spent decades with other survivors searching for clean water and a place away from the unforgiving sun, but now I’m tired. Tired and angry. I never wanted to be left behind. I sat and watched as everything beautiful withered. The worst of humanity took the best of nature, leaving behind a sad husk of an Earth and an elderly nobody.

Now it’s just me. My thoughts and the very human race will die with me soon. A bout of coughs rattle through my ribs and lungs, shaking my body. I miss my family. I miss what I loved about this planet. I’m the last relic of a better time, and the last reminder of its destruction. A salty tear fights against my dehydration and forces its way from an eye. It stings against my burned skin. It’s one thing to wonder about what animals felt in their last moments before they finally laid their species to the grave. It’s another entirely to be that last one, knowing that when I’m gone, humanity will rest with me, in a grave we dug for ourselves. A grave we climbed into and started filling in, even before the end. Now the soil closes over me as I lie in the fleeting shade, under sickly trees whose bare branches scrape the sky.

So much we could’ve done before it was too late. So much I could have done, if I wasn’t focused on navigating this hellscape. I mourn the lives that could have been, the future children who could have climbed the curling, twisting branches of century-old trees. The parents who could have watched their children gather dandelions and form a bouquet as if it were the most precious gift. I mourn for the creatures that grieved their lost ones without understanding why this was happening. Although, maybe dying without the agony of knowing your friends and fellows played a role is preferable.

I gaze up at the chemical sky and burning sun. Homo sapiens dies with me. I close my eyes, letting the once inviting, once reassuring, but now brutal and blazing sunlight wash over me. What a way to die. Alone, tormented, without any beauty. How unceremonious. What an undignified end to an incredible legacy. At least no one else will have to suffer through this desiccated and desecrated world. If only we had prevented this. Maybe I could have died surrounded by loved ones who laid me to rest with tears and fond memories. Maybe I wouldn’t be baking away in the heat of humanity’s hubris and ignorance, waiting for my inevitable death. The dogs sit, tails swishing, waiting as well. I blink out one last tear, feeling it trace its way down my cheek before drying up. I inhale once more, exhale once more. I feel the moment that last breath leaves my lungs, and I let it slip away into whatever is next, carrying me with it.