The Silence of the World
The Silence of the World
The melancholic diary of a solitary man after the world fell apart and society collapsed in the heat-death of the earth.
The following short story takes place in Siberia and follows the last days of Roman, a 32-year-old Russian man who has lost it all. He is the lone human survivor of the climate catastrophe.
And he doesn’t have much time left.
Welcome to Bovanenkovo, where people once used to tear apart the earth to get at black gold, and where now there is only death.
[Content warning: depression, suicidal thoughts, gore, death.]
JULY 12, 2037
My name is Roman, and I am alive. I am 32 years old and alone. I have many regrets.
JULY 13, 2037
I find myself in a cabin near a place called Bovanenkovo.
There are pipelines and oil fields, but no people. Further down the road, I saw a great banner that said ‘Gazprom’. I laughed, and then I cried.
JULY 15, 2037
Found food in a shack nearby! It should last a while, provided no one else shows up. I do not think anyone will. There are no signs of the people who lived here. They must have left in a hurry.
Perhaps I will stay longer than planned. There are many places to discover — I found a small airport! — and there should be more food. No wolves or foxes or anything to worry about. We killed them all — stripped away their furs, digested their meat, nothing left at all.
When the wind is right, I can smell the sea.
JULY 16, 2037
Why am I writing? There is no one left to read this.
Even when the world ends, we stick to our habits. It’s funny, almost.
JULY 17, 2037
The heat is unforgiving. I see forests shimmering and burning in the distance, their eerie lights illuminating the lonely night.
I nurture my sunburnt face. The skin is peeling away, and I am raw.
Siberia, near the Arctic Ocean. Incinerated tundra.
JULY 20, 2037
I scarcely write for I am weak. All the food in the world cannot cure the fatigue.
Why did I survive? Why do I live?
I miss my Yulia. Is she in a better place?
It cannot be worse than this.
JULY 24, 2037
Another day in purgatory and up to a bottle of vodka a day now. Luckily, there is enough to drown a lifetime – which should not be that long anyway.
The fires in the distance have stopped. Did someone extinguish them? Or are the trees gone? I do not care much.
JULY 25, 2037
A curious thing happened.
A few kilometers to the east, I came upon a petrol station and hurried inside to look for food and supplies. Someone had been there recently – there were half-eaten bags of potato chips and other leftovers on the ground. They must have been famished, for they ate much of the plastic.
I thought about leaving but then heard a noise from the back. Life! People!
I hesitated a moment before I approached the door. I knocked, but there came no answer. "Hello!?" I said and turned the handle to open the door.
The back door was still swinging in its hinges. I ran outside but saw nothing. They had fled into the shrubbery. Gone.
Still alone.
JULY 27, 2037
The sun is a white disk of fire. It veils the sky in a hue of throttling pain. Invisible rays of energy scorch the land with nothing to protect the earth. Wave upon wave of irresistible cosmic force.
No clouds. What happened to them? I miss the rains and the seasons. I miss Yulia. I miss the world.
It is all wilting away.
JULY 27, 2037 (SECOND ENTRY)
I think I want to die now.
AUGUST 1, 2037
There was someone outside the cabin last night.
My sleep had been restless when I heard the rustling of bushes. At first, I thought myself dreaming but the noises persisted. I got up and tiptoed to the window. It was pitch black, and I could not see. My hands were trembling. Who could move in this utter darkness? What did they want?
I thought about running outside and shouting for them, “Here I am!”, “I live!”, “You are not alone!” But I was too afraid. I have enough food, at least for a while. I could share. I would. But what if they meant me harm? What if they wanted… everything?
I cowered in my bed and hoped for the best. I had no weapons and had never fought, not for anything. None of us had.
My eyes closed. Then it was morning, and I was alive.
AUGUST 2, 2037
Recovered from last night. Vodka helps.
Probably imagined the whole thing. I am a coward.
COWARD! COWARD! COWARD!
AUGUST 2, 2037 (SECOND ENTRY)
Found a photograph of a woman and a child in the living room, hidden in a drawer. The woman has kind eyes and a soft smile. The child is a boy, perhaps five or six years old. They stand in front of a house, leaning on a white picket fence. It was taken before the world ended.
The boy reminds me of Yulia. She was around the same age.
I would wonder what happened to the two, but I know the answer. Their remains are in the basement; she clutches a gun, and they have holes in their skulls.
AUGUST 4, 2037
Discovered footprints behind the cabin, among the shrubbery. It hadn’t been my imagination the other night.
The prints do not appear human.
I cannot sleep.
AUGUST 6, 2037
Terrified of starving. I have seen what happens; the pain, the lethargy, the crumbling bones, the slow disintegration of body and mind.
I cannot find food. All the buildings, the petrol station, the airport… all empty. No rats, no birds. No fruit, no grain. Nothing. I cannot eat gasoline.
Even if I had weapons and knew how to use them, there is nothing to hunt. Nothing to eat in this godforsaken place.
How long can I survive on vodka?
AUGUST 6, 2037 (SECOND ENTRY)
It is dark outside, and I hear the rustling again. I shiver in my bed, though the air is stale and hot. The matchstick's struggling flame provides little comfort. It is as weak as I am.
Please, make it stop.
AUGUST 6, 2037 (THIRD ENTRY)
It is gone.
AUGUST 7, 2037
I must go to the ocean, around fifty kilometers to the west. I should make it in two or three days if I’m lucky. But there are no roads and I do not know the terrain.
Perhaps I can catch some fish there. If not, I will die. Good to die by the ocean. Good to be with Yulia. All is well. The day is hot.
AUGUST 8, 2037
Found some maps in the petrol station's shop. There is a hiking trail, but it will be hard. I am tired. I will go tomorrow.
AUGUST 9, 2037
I’ve been walking for hours and my legs are giving out. The trail is rugged, the terrain unforgiving. Endless, dried-up swamps and marshes stretch along the plains, but no mosquitoes — they were among the first victims of the cascade. I have no choice but to keep going, for the ocean is my only hope. My face is burnt, and no amount of water can still my thirst.
I can see the ocean in the distance. A beautiful sight, yet so far away. The mere thought is pushing me forward.
AUGUST 9, 2037 (SECOND ENTRY)
It is following.
I’d been making my way through an overgrown part of the trail when I came upon a murky pond to my left. To my surprise, I saw several fish swimming in the shallow brine, almost invisible in the mud. It would have been a simple thing to catch one or two. My mind was utterly consumed by this potential nourishment.
That’s when I heard it; a low growl from the other side of the pond. My heart raced and I realized something was watching me. I could not see the beast among the dense shrubbery, but I knew it was there. It had followed all the way from Bovanenkovo. It must be as hungry and desperate as I am.
I backed away from the pond and dragged myself along the trail, careful not to make any sudden moves. The growl grew louder and more vicious, and then I began running, never looking back. The last thing I heard was a great splash and I knew the fish were gone.
AUGUST 9, 2037 (THIRD ENTRY)
I am sitting under the stars, a fire crackling in front of me. It is beautiful.
I have never seen the Milky Way.
What have we done?
AUGUST 9, 2037 (FOURTH ENTRY)
It is here. I cannot see it, but I can feel it watching. A primal instinct that had kept my ancestors alive for generations upon generations upon generations.
I am feeding the fire and dare not go to sleep. It will kill me. It will eat me, dismember me bit by bit, strip my bones clean. It is its right to do so.
I will write for as long as I can. This notebook is keeping me sane. The words are my comfort. They are of me, and they are me. I am them.
I do not want to die, but I do not want to live, either. I am a coward. Please know that I am a coward and deserve this.
Yet I live.
God is cruel for having chosen me to continue when everyone else is gone. Why? Is this my punishment?
Yulia, where are you? Daddy will be with you soon.
AUGUST 9, 2037 (FIFTH ENTRY)
A weak light on the horizon, the sky on fire. A new day is dawning and I draw more useless breath.
The creature is observing, never straying its eyes off me. I know it and I feel it. It’s waiting for me to weaken and then it will end its hunger. It must be spent, too.
I once read how they keep their prey alive for as long as possible. They go for the face first so that one cannot scream.
My body will sustain it for a while, and then the beast will fade, too. Where will we all go?
The greatest crime of all! Not content to bring about our own demise, we have chosen to annihilate the world. I weep for what was. My thoughts are not mine anymore.
AUGUST 10, 2037
It is noon, I think.
I am weary from the journey and have not eaten in days. The heat is unbearable, my body parched and burnt and broken. I saw my face in a shallow pond; the skin torn, a color of raw flesh. I am the walking dead.
The creature is on my heels. I caught glimpses in the shimmering heat. A speck of white; a great, husky skeleton, eager and unrelenting, sniffing the air with craving hunger, its growls piercing the endless silence of the world. So very patient.
I don’t believe I will make it to the ocean.
AUGUST 10, 2037 (SECOND ENTRY)
It is evening and I sit by the fire.
The creature is close, though I dare not look. I hear its hissing, rattling breath and feel its constant gaze. It is drawing closer by the hour. As I write, tears fall onto the paper and I taste the salt.
My time is short.
My Yulia. Do you forgive me?
AUGUST 11, 2037
Last night I thought the end at hand.
The polar bear came close to the fire; a frame of bones, a shell of an apex predator, barely able to move. Its eyes were black and empty and it is wounded. Maggots feed on the gash and it smells of decay. It circled my camp in diminishing diameters, careful, conflicted. Had the moment come?
It rose to its hind legs, and I stretched out a fiery stick, meeting the towering beast. Our gazes met for a moment and I trembled at the desperation. Then a terrifying growl shook me to the core. The last wretched cry of the wild.
In a fury, I threw burning logs and branches at the beast. I smelled its smoldering fur and then it scrambled away into the darkness. I do not know why I fight.
AUGUST 11, 2037 (SECOND ENTRY)
I am not halfway to the sea.
When I look down at my body – the protruding ribcage, the stalky legs, the twisted feet – I see a corpse. The sun burns, burns, burns, and I feel beyond hunger. I have run out of water.
I will not make it to the ocean.
Finally, certainty.
AUGUST 11, 2037 (THIRD ENTRY)
Afternoon?
There is nothing but the sun. It fills the sky and I dare not leave the shadows.
I laugh at the polar bear. Bear, what are you doing here? This is the desert now! There are no polar bears in the desert. Fucking ridiculous.
I see it squatting in the distance, nurturing its burns. I laugh and shake until I throw up.
AUGUST 12, 2037
It is morning. I did not see the bear last night.
Please, God, please, let it live. Just a day longer. Please, do not make me the last living thing. Please, please, please, let me die first.
I cannot continue, I cannot do this. Please, just let me die. If it comes tonight I will offer myself.
AUGUST 12, 2037 (SECOND ENTRY)
I want water. I am thirsty. My lips are cracked. My body hurts so much. I am thirsty. My limbs are broken and my mind a fog. My head is a splitting mess. I cannot remember the words. I cannot remember the words. I cannot remember the words. I am thirsty. I am thirsty. I am thirsty. I am thirsty. Where is the bear?
AUGUST 12, 2037 (THIRD ENTRY)
I lie down to rest in the shadows. I will not rise again.
AUGUST 12, 2037 (LAST ENTRY)
A moment of clarity. The day is fading.
This shall be my last entry. May this notebook bear witness to the end of our kind.
The bear lives. It is right there, perched in the twilight, just a few meters away. We shall become one, as futile as the whole matter is. I have made no fire and I cannot get up.
I watch it getting ready. The beast is staring at me, a piercing gaze that makes me shiver. The smell is nauseating, its breath a rattling chainsaw. Two skeletons keeping each other company at the end of the world.
I giggle at the absurdity. May the earth recover. I see ants crawling by my feet; I see a spider in the thicket to my right. All will continue without us; endless cycles upon endless cycles.
The bear rises.
I am scared. I am happy. Yulia.
Farewell,
Roman
THE END
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Need more dystopian/utopian far-future fiction? Check out ‘Cuba 2099,’ a vision of Cuban society after warming and beyond industrial civilization:
This is a very impressive work of fiction!