The Last Witness

The sun bled slowly into the horizon, its final light turning the dunes in hues of red and sorrow. Where once a forest stood, only a trunk of a tree remained. Its branches clawing at the heavens in silent protest. Below the wind sang quiet songs into the sand, swirling through the ribcage of a long dead beast, now nothing but bone and memory.

High above, the vulture circled. Alone, the last one. 

As the last rays of sunlight slipped beneath the earth’s curved edge, the vulture descended. Not for hunger. Hunger had long passed. But for something deeper. It landed near the bones, its last companion, now resting silent on the dry sand. The bird touched the bones gently with its beak.

It had watched the world burn slowly. Watched as rivers dried, skies turned red, and voices vanished. It remembered the thunder and rain. It remembered the green and the air once rich with scent. It remembered the blue sky once it roamed with its family. All of it lived now only in its mind. The only proof that such a beautiful world had ever existed. 

Now, it remembered for them all. For all life that ever was. 

For a moment time held its breath.

The bird slowly spread its wings and flew toward the horizon where the sun had once risen with promise. 

There were no more promises now. Only dust, silence and memory.

And high above, the vulture circled. The last witness.