Monday - October 22nd, 2121:
Grogginess slammed into my mind as a shrill sound struck against my muddled, sleepy state. I raised myself off the stone, my eyes focusing gradually on a large, white raven with rubied gemstone eyes. The tips of its wings shimmered with that exact gemstone red as it preened its feathers.
The moment I raised myself, it turned its eyes toward me— those unblinking pools of red that stared into the depths of my being. It croaked lightly— as if attempting not to frighten me before returning to its preening.
I couldn't help but sigh, part exhaustion and part forfeit. If this is what my life has come to, then so be it.
Having picked myself up, I stretched, feeling the weariness that encapsulated my being. It was time for another day. Having slept, the pain in my gut numbed down. Only the dryness in my throat kept clawing at me, for now.
The unsettling creature followed me, a short distance away but still close enough that I could feel its gaze glued to me. It was bad enough that I had no idea what I was doing, Yet now I had the raven to worry about as well. Its wings fluttered with a crackle as the rubied tips slapped against the air. Thunderous and persistent, it circled at a distance.
I trekked onward. Despite the haunting shadow that loomed behind me, the only path before me was forward. With each passing hour, I increasingly grew numbed to the changed environment. The miraculous hues and strange plant-forms became a constant. Even the creatures that crossed my path became a normalcy I did not expect.
After three hours, I stumbled upon a creature that seemed to be a hybrid of a giraffe and a tree. It was unfortunate timing as it was mating with another lifeform resembling a brambly bush with a pig's snout. Its long neck twined around the pig's rotund form, latching onto its snout. While the core of the giraffe bloomed open, stretching out veinous filaments that encroached upon the pig's rear.
Having heard my step as it crackled against fallen leaves, the giraffe's neck sprung up with a hissing grunt. Its eyes focused with viscous bloodlust.
Behind me, the raven croaked and flapped its wings, causing the giraffe to turn toward it and huff. The two creatures then sprung up and wobbled off.
"Did you help me, big guy?" My hoarse voice questioned from the voice box as I craned toward the white raven with palpable sweat on my back.
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The bird flapped its wings, croaking a long gurgle in response.
It was a rough noise, but it seemed the friendliest of anything I'd heard thus far. I raised my arm toward it with my palm lowered. It craned its neck a few times before it flapped its wings and moved toward me. The raven rested its claws gently on my arm as its rubied eyes stared at the reflective sheen of my visor. It croaked a few times in a hushed tone as if saying something— something impossible for me to understand.
I raised my other hand and caressed the bird's back with a single outstretched finger. It didn't protest, only nudged its head closer to my hand. "At least something out here turns out to be friendly. Were you lonely, big fella?"
The bird was hefty, four or five times larger than a normal raven from Earth. It was surprisingly gentle, though. After a few minutes of petting it, the bird flapped its wings and circled overhead, croaking toward the west.
"Are you saying I should go there?"
It flapped excitedly and croaked again. I didn't know whether it could truly understand me or if it was just the animalistic instinct of a creature, but I had no better option. The minutes turned to hours, and the path extended endlessly. Finally, my foot caught on something, and I flopped over, grunting as I picked myself up to see what caught me.
Buried under a thick mossy layer, a jagged metal edge jutted out. I began scraping the moss off, rubbing it aggressively as the green fluids coated my gloves. My heart raced, and unknowingly, something stirred inside me. As I cleared a chunk of the moss, it lay buried there in ruin— a billboard.
It was a remnant of the world I knew before I set off for the O.S.S.
It was genuine— not the irrational thoughts or hyperbole— not the confusion and mystery of the strangeness that surrounded me. No. It was a part of reality— it was Earth.
I turned toward the raven, who stared back at me before I turned further west. I ran. My legs carried me faster than they ever had. I had to see it.
All around, the overgrown moss pervaded the space, but beneath the endless layers, the buildings peeked through. Building after building— ruined. Devastation coursed through me, not unlike that which ransacked this city.
I dropped to my knees as I stared blankly at the city.
Life is over. Humanity is no more.
My heart sank.
Then it spoke, not in words I could understand, but in the familiar croak I heard repeatedly today. I raised my head. The bird had not given up. It nudged me to go forward. "Why?" I questioned with a hollow timbre. But it refused to explain— it could not explain. I knew it, yet I stubbornly refused and waited and pleaded for it to tell me what the purpose of anything was— what was there to look forward to when Earth was dead.
It did not speak; no, it flapped. Aggressively and viciously. It turned toward me with animalistic fury. Its actions spoke louder than words as I picked myself up.
If this was the Earth's final requiem, it seems that the raven wanted me to be the witness to it.