The waxing gibbous reverted to the first quarter.
Outside the inner city, skeletal remains littered the ground. Animals and plants had all died out. In the shadows of the rocks, a man who was nothing but skin and bones lay on the ground, breathing faintly. Though he was skeletal, his belly was abnormally large.
He looked toward the inner city, unwilling to accept his fate, and thought that its people must have all died too. No one could be saved. Everyone had to die.
The migration to another planet had been a lie from the start.
No one could escape death by starvation.
But one day, a roar came from the inner city-the sound of aircraft starting up.
The parched planet met its end as hundreds of splendid aircraft rose from the inner city. Inside were jewels and gold, antique vases, exquisite desserts served in luxurious, elegant glassware, and a sliced steak in the center of a porcelain-white plate.
Sauce traced a decorative border around the plate. A man in a suit trimmed with gold thread forked up a piece of steak, took a bite, then rose and left. The discarded food, with a bite taken out of it, sat untouched on the table.
Near a window, a puppy on a soft blanket looked down through the glass, its innocent eyes watching the desolation below.
That was an abandoned place, filled with abandoned people.
The last person to die on the planet stared wide-eyed at the aircraft flying far away. Splendid, clean, spotless-he even understood that there was surely more food inside than anyone could count.
"Heh..."
Without any strength, unable to utter a single word, he had nothing left but anger-anger at this absurd reality. That final flicker of anger burned through the last of his life.
The planet