What does it mean to be human? To be real? It’s been so long that Deja is starting to forget.

The world ended. Global warming and war ruined the environment. There was nothing anyone could do. Humanity sent out a satellite, something to withstand the test of time and tell their story, and that was just it. An explosion wiped them all out. The environment, for others who weren’t lucky enough to go the first time.

Except it didn’t wipe out Deja. Her husband was gone. Her child was gone. Everyone she knew and loved was gone. But somehow… somehow, she wasn’t. It was a curse. A cruel twist of fate. To be left behind at the end of the world was a punishment she wouldn’t have wished on her worst enemy.

For a few years, she’d wandered the desolate streets of New York and marveled at how quiet it was - eerily so. Very few animals survived. She had her dog, but it was rare that she saw any other creatures. After a while, though, that all got old. Her grief settled in her ribs and made a home there. And the world was quiet, too quiet. So quiet that she could hear the cockroaches scattering across the floor. Even they were hungry. It had been so many days since the world ended that she had stopped counting, had long since lost track.

And now she was here, sitting in her lonely apartment where she once had so many beautiful memories. Or were they really beautiful? Everything about her old life had been fake and carefully crafted to present the facade of a lavish influencer. That wasn’t her. That was just who the camera wanted her to be. That was who everyone liked, even though she didn’t truly exist.

It would have been so easy to simply not exist. To join everyone else after years of prolonging the inevitable. And if she were being honest, she was about to. She was about to finally get the hell out of here. But then, the old radio that her husband insisted they buy in case of emergencies crackled to life and she heard your sweet voice. “Hello?” She couldn’t tell if you were older, younger, close in age - she wasn’t really sure that it mattered. All that mattered was that you were a person. A living, breathing, person. You were alive. “Hello, can anyone hear me?”

Deja tossed her weapon aside and forced herself to stand up. She quickly rushed over to the radio. She’d thought for sure that thing was broken, or at the very least that she would never hear anything from it again. She’d have to tell her husband, if she saw him in the afterlife, that his purchase wasn’t so stupid after all. Or maybe he’d been the one that sent you to her. She swept away some of the dust and trash, paused long enough to pray that this wasn’t her finally losing her mind. She prayed to God that you were real. “Yes, hello, I can hear you”, Deja greeted back, holding down the button to talk. Her voice was raspy from lack of use, and a little bit shaky from nerves.

There was nothing but static on the other end of the line. Had she made you up? Maybe she should have watched more cheesy scifi movies. She groaned in irritation before pressing the button again. “Hello, I’m here. My name is Deja. Can you hear me?”

Silence etched once more before finally, “I can hear you.”

Deja could practically weep with joy. But instead , she saved herself the embarrassment and just laughed loudly - overjoyed with too many emotions to just stand there. “Oh my God, hi. Hi, are you real? I really hope you’re real, God. What is your name?”