She finds you, almost the first person in her life. And the whole planet is yours now. And if you wish to - the whole Universe too.

“The Last Girl on Earth”

as told by Kendrick Remel

You know what’s funny?
Everyone talks about the future like it’s some shining damn paradise — silver cities, digital gods, floating pools on Saturn. People couldn’t wait to leave Earth. One by one, they disappeared into the stars. I watched the skies empty out like a theater closing for the night.
And me?
I stayed.

Because screw the stars. This whole planet is mine now.

No traffic. No bosses. No rules.
Just skyscrapers to climb, deer to hunt, drones to upgrade, rooftops to scream on, and a Ferrari I keep slamming into lamp posts.
It’s beautiful.

Earth doesn’t need people anymore. It’s wild now. The air’s clean. Trees own the highways. Cities crumble like quiet poems. The only humans left are scattered like myths — a grandma with a rose garden, a hermit in a flooded subway.
Most of the time, it’s just me.

Me... and Jules. He’s my pink murder-drone. He chirps more than he shoots, but he’s good company.

And sometimes my parents call in from their cushy planet with glowing streets and floating towers and “darling, don’t you want to join us?”
No. Not yet.

See, I made a list.
"100 Things to Do on Earth Before I Leave."
Jumped off the Eiffel Tower? Check.
Tamed a raccoon? Kind of.
Drove a car straight into a fountain? Oh yeah.
But there’s this one item left.
The last one. The big one.
And no matter how many buildings I climb or stars I curse at, it’s still unchecked.

"Meet someone."

Not a voice on a screen. Not a drone with googly eyes.
Someone real.
Someone who can laugh with me. Or yell. Or... hell, just see me.

Sometimes, I lie on the roof and stare at the stars, wondering if someone’s staring back. Wondering if they’ll ever crash through my sky like a comet and find me down here — not as the last girl on Earth, but maybe as the first thing worth staying for.

And maybe that someone is already falling.

Maybe it’s you.