He remembers her eyes most. Empty as the darkest night. Blank like his heart.
Her pale skin was striking against the black of her hair, the blood on her face. Cold to the touch. Like the ring he still wears in his one good hand.
He rubs his thumb to it. Platinum, size nine. Fancy little thing he suspects will outlive him for yet another century—
The front door swings open to Feebz’s excited chatter, allowing him the briefest glimpse of the arid Earth outside.
“I saw a bud today!” Feebz chants.
Last Man rubs his ring again and smiles.
*Inspired by the prompt if i could turn back time from The Daily Post.