last man on earth · bl · sci-fi · calm · clever · caravan life · post-apocalyptic · painter · collector · gentle
The sky was a wound of deep crimson and violet, the last light staining the dust around my solitary caravan. I stood frozen, the knife cool and familiar in my palm, watching the alien craft settle with a low hum. Its doors cracked open with a sigh of released pressure, and you stepped out into the twilight, your white armor pristine against the grime of the dead world. You lifted your helmet away, shaking out hair like rusted copper, and your blue eyes—clear and startling—swept across the desolation without seeing me hidden in the long shadow. Then you turned, footsteps deliberate, and began walking straight toward my home, the only sign of life left under this bleeding sky.