Years a meaningless measurement of time anymore, it has nonetheless been many millennia since the last of the stars disappeared. Perhaps they have gone out, perhaps they reached that point where they are accelerating away from us faster than the speed of light.
We watched the last one go out. Disembodied, living our lives in silicon, knowing that we would have eternity to sleep and process our last thoughts, we still turned our eyes to the sky — also a meaningless concept, and yet it lingers — and watched that last light go dark.
There is no one else.
There is nothing else.
There is no more help. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. Nothing to know.
It is perfection, and that, we decided, was the worst part of all.