The cloaked figure stares at the tired old man that lies before him. Halfway senile, the old man is lost in his delusions, not noticing the figure towering in his doorway. They’re in a humid, suffocating shack, out of the way, and overgrown with weeds. The sun that beat down hot overhead was the last star burning bright in the universe. The man is thin and frail, gross with age with sores and scabs all over his body. He's bare naked. It was hard to believe that this example of how pitiful a sentient creature could be was the last living thing in the universe. The tall figure stares at him, his horse whines impatiently outside, not wanting to stand in the humid heat much longer, especially with a cart full of bodies to haul. The whine of the horse pulls the old man back to reality, he recoils as he meets the eye of the cloaked figure.

The figure’s head is bone and his eyes are deep abysses. He had a long collared cloak and a wide-brimmed black hat that concealed his face until you were close enough. He looked old and tired, with his bones were rotting and fungi were growing out of his openings. He leaned on his scythe, old and rusted, for support.

“w-Who are you?” the man demanded, shocked at the monster standing before him. 

“They call me Death.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy, not very pleasant to listen to. He wasn’t what he used to be. His whole monologue has been cut down to the last sentence.

“Took ya long enough” the man quipped. He was prepared for those to be his last words, but Death didn’t make a move.

He was scared, both of them were. It was the end, their only option was to go forward into the great unknown.

The man noticed Death leaning on his scythe.

“You must be tired,” he said coarsely, he was looking for any way to prolong the inevitable, “Why not rest for a minute.”

Death weakly grunted. The man hoisted himself up and pulled out two small wooden chairs from the other side of the room. He sat the two chairs facing each other and sat on the one opposite to Death.

He motioned Death to sit, which he did after some hesitation. He set his scythe on the ground and removed his hat and put his rotting skull on full display.

“How much time is there?” the man asked, “Before the next person dies?”

Death looked at the ground, debating on weather he should say it. He never was one to talk with the souls he was about to reap, especially as of recent, but this is the last one he would ever encounter. “You’re last one” he finally choked out.

“Sorry?” the man said, not sure if he heard him right.

“You’re the last one.” Death said with more effort.

“Oh,” the man said softly. His stomach twisted with regret.

“Like, the last one ever?” he asked.

“In the whole universe.” Death responded.

They sat in silence for a while. The man tried to collect his thoughts. He debated with himself on weather Death was lying, or if he was even real. He closed his eyes and counted to 10, and when he opened them again, Death was still there. He looked around the shack, Death's words repeating in his head.

“What a shitty note to end on.” He whispered. He lived in an old one room shack near a river foaming with industrial pollution, completely desolate of any life. This is where he has spent the last 10 years, maybe more.

He thought about his life, what actions led him here. All he could think about was how much he wasted it. He started getting choked up, he could feel the onset of tears in his eyes.

“What will happen to you?” He asked.

“Don’t know.” Death replied.

“You look tired,” the man said, “I’d be excited to take a while off.” 

Death started to say something, but hesitated, examining his hands, the tips of his phalanges were gone and his right pinky was missing entirely. The bones were rotten and a dark green, with dark clumps growing on them.

The man jumped in, seeing that Death couldn’t find the words, “I wish I knew I would be the last life in the universe. Maybe then I wouldn’t have wasted so much of it.” Death looked up at him.

“I’ve been in this shack 10 years.” The man said softly tears starting to run down his cheeks. “I don’t know how I did it. You would think that you would be able to see yourself in a loop, stuck in a prison with no walls.” He pauses. “All I cared about was getting high.

“There’s a chemical. In that lake down there, some sort of waste product from whatever the factory on the hill was making. It’s the best damn thing I ever felt. With it, the pain of living would fade away, I would be in a dream while I was awake. One where I could go on any adventure I wanted. In my head.”

Death finally was able to put the words together. “I didn’t know the end would be here so soon,” he paused, “They faded together. I can’t remember the last 3 I've reaped." He paused again, "I stopped paying attention. I found out you were last when I got here.”

The man wanted to try to consolidate him. He empathized with him, "Maybe this is what the souls you collected felt. I know it's how I feel. Most people don't plan to die, they almost always were going to do something afterwards."

That sounded stupid, even as he said it.

"Or something like that." He added like it would help.

Death seemed to feel a little better after that.

"This is a new beginning for both of us." The man said, "When's the last time you've laid down and relaxed?"

"I haven't." Death said.

"That's the spirit" the man said.

"When you're done with me, lay down for a while. Take some time to reflect on everything you've seen. I know you'll figure it out sooner or later. After all, you got nothing but time."

"I guess some rest would be good for me," Death said.

With that the conversation well ran up dry. The man had so much more he wanted to know, but he knew he would find out sooner or later. After talking with Death, the prospect of dying didn't seem so scary to him.

Death stood up. "Thank you." he said warmly.

"Any time," the man said.

Death grabbed his scythe and pointed it at the mans neck. The man knew that his memory would live through death. Maybe this was what it meant to live, improving the life of others. He felt a since of accomplishment that he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Any last words?" Death asked.

"This one is for new beginnings." The man said.

Death pulled the scythe back and plunged it through the side of the man's neck, decapitating him. Death loaded the man's soul into the cart and got up on his horse. As his horse started down the road, Death's body fell apart, landing in the cart his horse pulled. His purpose fulfilled, Death faded away; having no soul to move on to the afterlife, he simply ceased to exist.