Strange, how one gets accustomed to the end of the world.

Sitting on a rocky outcropping of a tiny island, Jongin looks over the empty water, towards the distant horizon as the sun lazily paints it with pinks and oranges to pass the time.

A warm breeze kicks up, invisible fingers running through his hair. He closes his eyes. The sun still warms his skin, and he tastes salt when he his dry lips.

Waves crash beneath him, throwing themselves tirelessly at rocks and beach to wear it all away into nothingness. Sometimes, a fish or crab is tossed ashore. Jongin enjoys its company for a brief moment before tossing the fish back or letting the crab scuttle on its scavenger hunt.

He swims to shore and wrings out his shorts. It’s summer, and he’s taken to sleeping on the beach, out of reach of the tides, because there’s no one to tell him not to and because he feels safer in the open. Like if something should happen again, he’ll see it coming.

Not that he can act against it, but there’s some small comfort to knowing what kills him.

No one else had that luxury.

Blueish bodies still show up every once in a while, brought in by distant storms or discovered in places Jongin had never explored before. He buries them in shallow graves, offering prayers as he thinks of them and leaving some wildflowers over the mounds.

He discovers he’s allergic to one of the flowers and treks to the pharmacy in town. Most every building is unlocked, and cabinets and inner doors are easily pried open with a prybar from the docks.

Sometimes, he’ll sit in one of the bars and drink until he falls asleep.

Other times, he’ll turn on as many music players as he can find up to maximum volume, just to hear something other than the water, and dance in the middle of the street.

There are days he’ll gather glass bottles and break them with a baseball bat, leaving the shards littering the ground.

There’s no one to tell him not to. He’s the only one who could get hurt.

When he’s particularly lonely, he’ll return to the ocean and dive underwater to see the bustling aquatic lifestyles—schools of fish flashing as they turn in unison, rays that seem to glide rather than swim, a shadow of a shark every now and then. Dolphins live in the area all year around and don’t mind sharing the water with Jongin.

The vibrant colors of the coral and nudibranch draw him to the volcanic rocks, where tiny creatures keep to themselves and their own personal business. Among them, he can pick out shellfish and abalone to eat.

He wishes he could live in the water, leaving the empty surface behind for good.

Maybe there will be a day where he’ll come up for air and find none again.

When he wakes up to the wind ruffling his hair, he’s not sure if he’s relieved or sad.

a/n: Written for round four of Tiny Sparks.

After watching The Last Man on Earth (1964), I discovered Last Woman on Earth (1960) and then Battle of Blood Island (1960). Got me thinking about surviving the perceived end of the world...

20200918: This fic is now in Polish! (With many thanks to twt@hanaga96. ♡) You can read it here on Blogspot.