THE OCEANS disappeared three months ago. It is a graveyard now.
As are the rivers, the creeks, and the seldom ponds that once gave it purpose.
Only a hush remains. It drifts quietly over each brazen skull gaping beneath the frozen mud. Voiceless, were they. Soulless. Alone. They stared into an abyss no living mortal can detail, jutting out their jagged jaws to the stars that deemed them unworthy. Beyond their mortal shells was everything and nothing; whatever insignificances existed on the coast had turned to stick and root.
Futile, my dear Nature. She waited for the rain to fall. But it never came. And it never would.
This aging Ghanaian night did not differ from the millions that came before it. Burning cycads rustled. Heatwaves wavered like the ghosts of the sea. And the archaic terrain shook to the touch of a spring breeze sweeping beneath the coils of a thousand clouds. Like a scavenger to the flesh, it clawed those who slipped into an eternal slumber. Those moping over dead promises. Those souls in whom I beckoned away.
It was here, just north of the bog, where I found 'Fintail'. You may think it is a name. It is not. Our hero bears a name, but has yet to speak it. What I know is this:
'He is the first. He is the last.
He is Fintail. And he is alone.'
Trudging helplessly across the mud-cracks, the ragged longsnout could only blow heavy sighs as his body burned beneath an invisible inferno. His thick tail remained low, dragging across the earth as would his fingers, claws, and snout; two eyes opening and closing as weariness drew near. Every minute an earthquake would rally; the theropod froze to attend the dying roars of his homeland, and allow its anger rock his body to the core. The ground would buck and shiver against him, each convulsive wave throwing rock and bone in all directions. A minute would pass before the world settled. And once it had, Fintail trudged onward, as if nothing ever happened.
I could smell the desperation in his lungs. Taste the spicy heat bubbling against the flesh where scale and fin met. Feel the torturous sting of each prudent step, the tightening of his calves, every sharp inhale and passive exhale filling his fragile lungs of smoke and ash.
He was dying. He couldn't sense it, yet. Or, rather, he didn't want to.
Another quake struck. The longsnout jolted forward and caught himself mid-fall, both fin and tail arching high enough to slice through thin air. The tremors dispersed into oblivion, just as before, but Fintail didn't stand up this time. Not that he didn't want to, he just couldn't.
Try as he might, even a careful observer could see that his body was beginning to fail. The bouncing earth had no actual tie to his relentless muscle spasms; this was fatigue — the telltale sign that a body can go no further. I was certain he had sensed it here — he no longer had the will to take another step. He shivered. He wheezed. And then, without warning, the longsnout broke into a violent coughing fit, spraying fresh blood across the rotten earth for the skies to watch.
That's when fear took hold.
It was this same fear that managed him a few more meters into the charred thickets ahead. The effects didn't change; he panted harder, breathed louder, his staggers more prudent and indirect. The heat was taking a deathly toll on our dear friend. His mind might've spat in the face of submission, but a body knows when it is time to stop.
As for Fintail, the alarm came suddenly.
Losing balance, he quickly reached for a dead sapling in hopes to reset himself. But dead weight was loyal only to gravity, and the poor predator was too slow to see his fate seal once the sapling snapped in two. His body plummeted, torso striking rock, tail flailing from behind as skin met earth, and out expelled one heart-wrenching cry to announce his doom.
Only a breeze carried his dying voice across the flaming sky. Then came the silence.
He couldn't stop panting. Everything was hurting now. Everything was on fire. There was no shade anywhere -- no food, no water, no living help -- nothing. All that gave him purpose became the sharp stabs of pain within his gut, and the massive headache now drawing blood from his inners toward the base of his throat.
I tilted my head right, rumbling softly as I studied the beast. A shame to find a life suffering so painfully. So slowly. Alone... and filled with so much good spirit.
Snarling in defiance, Fintail tried to stand — gravity slammed him back down to stay. He went for a second attempt — he struggled to lift to his left foot, only to slip and plunge right back down to where he started. Now his body refused to obey, as if fastened down by a predator's talons. Everything was growing colder and colder despite the heat, and, now, engulfed in a torrent of panic, Fintail roared into the sky for a miracle.
There is nobody here. Their souls are with me now.
The whimpering grew louder, the terror so aromatic that it pulled me through the muck and right above the saurian's body. Here, fate granted me a better glimpse of his foul works — the scars drawn across his fading scales, the dust inflaming his eyes, and the rotting of his dear soul as he resisted the temptation to give in.
This war was all in vain.
Fintail continued to pant and wheeze, sensing another sharp shockwave rocking the void that surrounded him on all sides. The longsnout tried one last time, announcing his anguish for the entire world to hear.
Nothing.
His tears broke first. My heart went second. This was fate's doing. Fate targeted the noblest of our world, those who seek 'happy-endings' and the fantasies life craves. Those too innocent to perish. Now I am only here to pick up the pieces. And... I must keep my word to him.
He is the first. He is the last.
He is Fintail. And he is-
"You."
...
He was staring at me. Fintail dragged his jagged muzzle into the sand like a hapless hatchling, sucking another meaningless breath through his nares before growling to the wind.
"W-Why do I s-see you?"
...
I gave him no answer. There is no need to speak; mortals know why I am here. My choice does not mean I do not feel pity the living. Simply put, it hurts to explain. The distant look on their faces, the shudders of awareness, those stomach-churning, heart-breaking cries that follow in its wake aren't as numbing as you may think. Yes, I am used to this job, but I feel, too. And once this vacant message told the carnivore of my true intentions, his soul ignited like a flame.
I was not ready to face it.
Fintail rushed the third attempt to rise. Using what little hidden energy he had left in store, the longsnout drove his body forward, staggering onto two ramshackle claws, two feet, and one snout with reckless abandonment. But he couldn't get far; a violent cramp shot through his body like live wire. All Fintail could manage was a blood-curdling howl before plunging right back to the earth.
Ease yourself, longsnout.
"N-No..." the longsnout sobbed, tears bursting in his eyes. "I d-don't want to g-go yet!"
I am sorry.
"Stay away from me!" Fintail bared his fangs. His snarl was powerful, raw in intensity, and menacing in stride. A valiant try to scare me. But nothing ceases my walk. Not a growl, not a whimper, not even a threat.
"No..." the theropod felt his head slump to the ground, tears still spilling from his face. "No. Please... s-spare me..."
Your body is overheating.
"I-I can make it. J-Just give me time!"
There is no food or water for miles, Fintail. Everything is dead.
The theropod began to grieve again. "This can't be it..."
He sniveled, resting his pointed snout against the trembling skin of the planet. The tears continued to flow, rolling down his cheek and withering into nothing before it had even kissed the charcoal soil. Still, his fight prevailed; the still-living barrier (will, as you call it) denied me access to his ghost.
And that left me with a problem. Doing nothing would cause his soul to die, leaving behind a shell of who he was for all eternity — a fate far worse than death. I preferred to spare him the trouble and simply pull it out of him. It would make things easier.
But I am many things. And a murderer is not one of them.
I rounded the longsnout, letting my tail drift over his own as a reminder of his choice. The predator shivered, sensing a cold, deathly chill roll up his spine. It only made him more uncomfortable; Fintail snarled once I perched beside him. But I did not aim to temper him. Nor was that my intention, I only needed him to understand.
This is not worth the suffering, my friend. Your spirit will die if I do not relieve it.
"G-Give... me time..." he rasped again.
You body has already called for me. It knows it is time. But still the longsnout shook his head, coiling his claws into the mud to hold on for dear life. I bowed my head an inch lower, reassuring him again.
I'll take you somewhere more beautiful than here.
Fintail's eyes closed. He couldn't bear another minute challenging the terrible feelings ravaging his body, or the stench of his blood clogging his lungs. The pain would never cease, nor would the ache in his skull. With all this blood and the added smoke, he knew he would never stand again. So, for how little time he had, he sheltered in his final breaths, looking around the burning landscape that surrounded him, and the empty skies that trembled from above.
"Will it hurt?" he asked me.
That is up to you.
Fintail returned his gaze toward the smoke-stained sky, and exhaled heavily. He paused in tongue, trembling over the words before finally bowing his head in acceptance. I should have known better to take that as my signal to act; my body starting to rise, one single claw lifting toward his spine-
"Wait, wait-!" the longsnout cried out quickly, gaping his bloodied jaws for a moment, and exhaled. His heart was racing, eyes wide once fear took control again. The gateway to his soul sealed yet again, and I grumbled quietly, lowering my claw.
I know this is not easy.
The longsnout started to whine again. "I wish... I-I wish I could've..." He couldn't make out the words.
No creature is ever ready to move on from life.
"No," his head slumped to the ground again. "N-Not that..."
He suddenly groaned, sinking his head closer to the soil. My nostrils suddenly flared up; a blotch of fresh blood was escaping Fintail's maw, spurring a rotten, metallic flavor in its wake. The predator swallowed it away with a pained grunt, keeping his attention forthright and focused on the horizon. Unmoving. Unspoken. But afraid... so hopelessly afraid.
Refocusing on his soul, the poor thing was now shaking in its chambers, holding onto his body by a thread. His will is as strong as his heart, I realized. He is a fighter. My eyes returned to the dying world around us — there was no life here. No happiness. Nothing remaining but the theropod beside me. It may be a relief to sever the tie...
I looked back at Fintail. What good will that do me? Life won't return for another hundred years. And Fintail...
I thought back to his soul again.
He is the first. He is the last. He is alone. He is Fintail...
I lowered back to the ground. I made my decision.
Yes. You are the last.
Fintail raised his head weakly.
You define the final moments of your species. And, as I see, it is unfair of me to take a soul so soon without any regard to the proud life that you lived. Without any memory to take away. Without a story to tell... when the world moves on.
I paused.
I will wait with you until sunrise, longsnout.
The predator blinked. "T-The sun... is still here?"
She still rises... as will you.
I noticed the confusion in his eyes upon my decision, and I purred softly, draping my tail over his to calm him. Another heavy chill rushed through his body, enough to make his fangs chatter. Fintail still fought my contact, but I assured him that I would keep my word.
Time is short. So reminisce as much as you can, dear longsnout.
He shook his head. "I don't u-understand."
Look back, I rephrased softly, and enjoy what you see. Smile. Laugh. Cry. Wonder. Dream. Talk to me of your wonders. The living gives us chances to memorialize all we had, and all we have lost. Let this define your final moments, not fear.
The male stiffened. "C-Can you help m-me?" he whispered.
I can.
Fintail drew in another deep breath, loosening his muscles, and released slowly. His fading eyes pointed to the East where a cloud of smoke and ash blossomed, then to the West, a distant, endless pavement of sand and bone. Then his eyes fell, studying his own-self — his mighty talons that hooked inward, those beautifully tinted scales shimmering like diamonds in the heavens, even his own tapered tail, fish-like and magnificent.
He smiled sadly.
One claw rose to meet his heartbeat, feeling the soft thuds of his life ebbing away; another lowered to feel for the earth. Even with the growing earthquakes, nothing seemed to pull his attention away from the fish bone at its center, staring up at him, warning him of what was yet to come. Fintail pressed down, each nimble talon grazing a piece of spine. He could almost imagine the fish moving, that silky tail slapping against the thin flesh binding his two fingers together; those pink, frail gills rising and falling as it fought for a breath. And he could hear the world, too — the thrashing waves of water pulling and pushing against him. The foliage above, its green tufts wrinkling away in ways for the sun. And the air... it was so fresh. So warm.
Listen... I whispered just to him. The past still speaks...
Not everything is lost...