Dying Days (bp coyle)

My species evolved as the Universe was coming to an end.

The stars in the sky flickering out one by one.

I learned the reasons why at school and have read into it more from time to time.  While the page is open I can almost understand but I have lost it all a minute later.  I am a painter not a scientist.

Each night I climb the hill behind my home and paint the few stars that remain.

I was part of the last generation of my people to be born.  With the end so close, reproduction was banned decades ago.  It was deemed too cruel for children to die.

Strangely, almost all of us have become artists of one kind or another.

Our parents were surprised.  They predicted that we would all become obsessed with science and trying to find a solution.  There is no solution.

Life is wonderful.  The world is beautiful.  We try to celebrate this as best we can in our music, our pictures, our sculpture, our writing.  While we are still able.

‘Why?’ the old ones ask us.  ‘What is the point?’

Since when did art ever need to have a point?

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