Fate of Ghosts

I have forgotten why I am here.
I think someone died. It might have been a girl? Or my father? I remember something dear to me that left me a long age ago. Or it was lost?
There was… There is a sense of loss that keeps me. It keeps me here.
Man rose and fought. The east rose against the west. The virus came. People died around me. And then world grew cold as the northern winds conquered the land again with its ancient icy embrace.
But I remained.
Waiting.
Then the spring came as crisp and full of hope as the first sunrise. The land thawed and colour poked its sleepy head out from under the ice. Man resurfaced, rebuilt and the stars came closer as the warm night air made dreams possible.
Was it a dream? A dream I lost? Or a dream I had to find?
There is a single smell I cannot forget. Slightly sweet, slightly… But I cannot recall what it is? Where does it come from?
I think I had a garden once? With a post box. I think I can almost hear a dog barking and see a glint of sharp metal in the moonlight.
Some tried to talk to me. Some heard it when I tried talk back. But the colours changed and moss covered where the highway once ran. Another highway was built over it once the ice had left and eventually beings of metal walked down it with determination.
And then no one ever tried to talk to me anymore.
Still I waited. Lingered. Waiting for something… Something I have forgotten, forgotten what I am waiting for. Were my sister’s eyes blue? Did I have a sister?
Perhaps it was her that died?
The buildings rose again as the dust settled after the next war. Soldiers in different colours screamed around me in a language I could no longer understand. There were women screaming.
A lady screaming.
Was that what I was waiting for? I wish I could remember.
But then she was gone. And so were the soldiers. The bodies became skeletons, the skeletons became dust and the dust blew away. And then the highway disappeared with the dust. The beings of metal fell silent, like statues lost in time.
Above the stars started to grow dim. The sunlight was fading. The sun itself was burning out.
I wish I could remember? Recall any fact. What am I waiting for? Why? Why am I still here?
And then there were no more men and no more women. No children. Man was gone. The earth was quiet.
Everything was still.
Slowly the plants claimed everything as the land moved backwards to what it was long before war and conflict. The skies grew dark and the stars disappeared one by one. The northern winds quietened and the earth held its breath. One last breath.
And then there was a light in the sky.
A single pure light.
It landed near me, humming quietly.
Out of the light stepped beings; strange grey beings that moved slowly like they were under water. They talked or thought amongst themselves. But I could not hear them. They could not see me.
They took dust and pieces of the ages around me back into the vessel of light. They carefully placed pieces of what they found around us into strange boxes. I could see their sadness.
But they could not see me. I tried to call out, but they did not hear me.
Was I waiting for them? Where they coming to find me? Where they trying to find me?
But then I knew that they were leaving.
This planet was dying and there was nothing that they could do.
So they left. The final light, humming quietly, left this planet.
And then the earth died.
Dust began to float up, as the land cracked. Oceans roared in to claim the land. Fish of strange shapes swam briefly past me, but even they eventually died. The oceans turned black and when the earth cracked, the oceans first seeped into the land. The steam preceded the eruptions as the fire reached out to colour the skies red. One final blazing red colour, like the gasping bloody hand of a dying artist. And then the core of the planet itself was torn apart and the world shattered.
Rocks flew away in all directions as the sky became night and night became space. And space became the land. And the land left this place.
Leaving only darkness.
And me.
Alone.
Why am I still here?
Floating in the quiet of space, even my memories of memories have started to become vague. I know I am waiting, but waiting for what?
How did she die and what is her name? Do I miss my father? Are they coming back? What colour… What… What is colour?
But the endless space around me does not answer these questions. The silence of its dark depths mockingly echoes the silence of my own existence.
I have forgotten why I am here, but I cannot leave.
I am waiting for something.

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