[ WP ] You are tasked with conducting the funeral of the human race .

Light and sulfur sputtered into the air, illuminating for just a moment the whole hillside, the whole damned night. 
 
 I held the bent matchstick close to my face, breathing in its warmth as the sputtering flame calmed itself into a steady ebb and flow. I touched it to the long-burnt wick of the stubby candle that sat before me, and in a moment the little wax thing was holding its own glow. 
 
 My son watched on, a strange sort of sedated wonder on his face. He'd been through a lot these past few weeks. For a boy of seven to see the end of days... Well, I suppose a lot of seven-year-olds did. But this one. My boy, my little Michael... He made it to the very end. Seeing that little flame reflected in his eyes I knew that he had grown beyond his years as well. 
 
 Rather suddenly I found a lump in my throat. The corners of my face felt pulled, my eyes warm. I was going to cry. It always took me by surprise, and I always hated that. But here I was, and at the eulogy for all that ever was I choked back my tears. Michael was being strong. I needed to be strong. 
 
 I turned my own gaze to the candle dancing before us, the only light in the whole hemisphere trying so hard to brighten the hillside where we sat. If you let your eyes adjust for long enough, you could probably even see the shadows dancing on the crumbling concrete walls down the way. The infinite headstones of the human race. 
 And in that moment, looking down at the little flame on the hillside, I thought it quite poetic. Fire. Our secret weapon, our first technology. Our saving grace, our rise to power. Our terrible strength, and ultimately our epic downfall. And now here, at the end of the world, the last vigil for a species who had mastered all but itself. 
 
 I wrapped my arm around Michael and pulled him close to me, giving him the warmth I could. Quietly, he stared on into the little flame. For he knew as well as I did that with the candle, we would go out too.
