He was the last person on earth, he thought, and then there was a knock on the door.
The nurse–Shawna, he remembered someone calling her–was the first to make the rounds of the hospital, or hospice or nursing home. Wherever. He wondered why she knocked when she surely knew he was the only person in the room.
Truth be told, he didn’t know where he was. He knew his name was Alfred Wright; his age was 57; his occupation was, ironically, researcher into neurological biology. His memory remained clear on all those details. He never could remember his Social Security number, but no matter. The problem was he couldn’t move his arms or legs, not even a finger or eyelid.
Time passed. How much time, he didn’t know. Shawna came and went several times, and then his wife and doctor entered the room in the middle of a conversation.
“Coma,” Dr. Sternberg kept explaining to his wife Nora. “He’ll likely never come out of it. His EEG indicates there’s some brain function, but we really don’t know if he can hear you or comprehend.”
“But… what does it mean? How long will he be this way?” she asked. He visualized Nora’s face contorting the way it did when she was perplexed. She would also twist her wedding ring.
“A few scientists believe consciousness is like a bunch of old Christmas tree lights,” Sternberg said. “Some are dark, others may blink once or twice, but the string is no good and should be thrown out.”
“But, can he hear me? Is the light on or off?”
“It’s probable he’ll be like this forever. Does he have a living will?”
Sternberg had sidestepped the question by changing the subject. Alfred smelled smoke on the doctor’s breath. The vaunted specialist also was a secret smoker, flying blindly in the face of medical warnings. Figure at least one light in his string would go out soon.
“I don’t know about a living will,” his wife said. “He has some papers in his desk. I can check, but we never talked about this.”
“Then you’ll have to make the decision about keeping Alfred on life support. Why don’t you come back and see me tomorrow. We can decide then.”
That’s it, Alfred told himself. The living will is in the left hand drawer of the desk. When Nora brings it back tomorrow, it will tell Sternberg to pull the plug.
He laughed silently at the irony of being alive and unable to tell anyone. They wouldn’t know to do a brain scan to see that the lights were still burning on his Christmas tree.
What irony. Just last month, a woman in England had been in a vegetative state until a brain scan showed–a breath-taking discovery–that all the lights were on upstairs. A bridge was waiting to be built between the layman’s idea of who’s at home and the scientific understanding of consciousness. Sternberg would have to be told when the bridge opened for traffic.
Wasn’t it Descartes who said I think, therefore I am? That bit of philosophy had never made sense until now. Alfred realized he was an entire world that existed solely within his mind. A universe inhabited by one person. He considered this revelation, and savored it. He was the last person on earth–the only one. Time itself was standing still. Until tomorrow morning.
Walter Giersbach directed corporate communications at Fortune 500 companies in New York for more than 30 years while contributing to business-communication journals. His recent fiction credits include: “Big Willa and a Push Toward the Edge” in Lunch Hour Stories (July 2007), “Not My Wife” in Mouth Full of Bullets (September 2007), “Dreaded Conversation” and “Ghost of a Valentine” in Every Day Fiction (October 2007 and February 2008), and “Cable Window” and “Number Eleven” in Bewildering Stories (issues #271 and #272″“October 2007). Upcoming issues of MFOB, EDF, Written Word and Bewildering Stories will also carry short fiction. His collection of short stories, Cruising the Green of Second Avenue, Vol. 2, has just been published by Wild Child.
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14 Responses to “THE LAST PERSON ON EARTH • by Walter Giersbach”
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March 1st, 2008 at 5:51 am
I think that’s absolutely terrifying.
March 1st, 2008 at 7:28 am
I really liked this – and I agree with Oonah it is terrifying.
It vaguley reminded me of a very old Alfred Hitchcock short about the scene of a car crash. It concerned a man who’d been injured & everyone thought was dead – until a tear was seen to glide down his cheek.
It brings home how dependent we are on the vessel carrying the consciousness.
March 1st, 2008 at 7:54 am
I graoned when I read the title — but am so glad I read the actual story! Great twist to my head there.
March 1st, 2008 at 8:19 am
I like this one, especially with the title. Nicely written.
March 1st, 2008 at 8:25 am
I like this, and for a brief but terrifying moment, I believe that this is what it might be like. Chilly.
March 1st, 2008 at 8:29 am
Familiar, but nonetheless, terrifying thought. I’d rather I had dementia myself.
March 1st, 2008 at 10:43 am
It was worth reading, but a risk on the part of the author to lead us first over familiar territory–I almost quit reading–before arriving at a scary and totally possible ending.
March 1st, 2008 at 3:48 pm
This is a swell concept, nicely told.
March 1st, 2008 at 5:59 pm
Thanks to you all for your thoughts and comments. Really, I didn’t mean this to be terrifying. Just ironic.
It was also tough trying to rework a cliche (last person on earth, until there was a knock on the door) and see what came of it. A writing challenge here. Thanks to some unknown scientist, too, for the metaphor of Christmas tree lights going off in the brain. Now, THAT’S an ironic image!
March 2nd, 2008 at 4:15 pm
Great concept, Walt – eliciting both dread and humor in one fell swoop. Nicely done!
March 5th, 2008 at 4:33 am
This story was especially poignant because my father suffered many strokes for two years before he died. After each one, I felt he had gone “some place” farther and farther away from me. Then, I guess, I was the one who decided to go away long before his final departure.
March 5th, 2008 at 5:49 am
Thanks, Patty, for your comment–particularly because I think the greatest achievement any writer can accrue is to touch someone’s life. I keep striving for that, hoping my words reach their mark and despairing when they don’t.
March 9th, 2008 at 5:31 pm
Scary, and yet he seemed to be so cool about it!
March 31st, 2008 at 12:56 am
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