https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ra5bWPziU_U

　　　　“That was the last day the sun shone.”

I continued to look at the little picture, for some reason carefully avoiding placing my thumbs over either of their bodies. I never really cared much about how I treated objects, and the realization took me by surprise. Feeling guilty, or perhaps unworthy, I quickly but gently set the picture back down on the rest of her things.

　　　　She was standing in the doorway when I looked up, leaning wearily onto the doorframe, looking not really directly at me, but somewhere off to my side. It was one of the few habits she had, and it had made me uncomfortable at first. I’d gotten used to it though.

　　　　My hand instinctively reached to the scar running under my left eye. I had only existed in this world for... I don’t know, I don’t really count or pay attention to time. But it was a hell of a lot less of a time than the woman before me, and here I sat, bandaged and ruined, part of the vision gone in my ruined eye and a fractured skull. And there she was, just standing there, looking exactly as she did in the photo. Not a single scar on her, and if she was as old as she said she was, she had lived about three lifetimes without seemingly so much as a scratch. I compared us both, and smiled to myself, looking down at the sheets.

　　　　“Does that amuse you?” She asked from the doorway, a similar smile playing across her face.

　　　　I realized I failed to comment on her previous statement. I briefly wondered, glancing at the man in the photo again, if that was a metaphorical musing.

　　　　She walked across the small room, stopping at the side of the bed. Her hands left her strange cap she perpetually adjusted (another of her few habits), and she brushed her fingertips against the picture before picking it up with the same careful love a mother shows a child. I saw her throat bob up and down as she swallowed, eyes closing slightly as her mouth creased into a light smile.

　　　　It was odd, seeing her like this. She never seemed to care much about anything material, and so often said things that hinted at a person who didn’t give much thought to possessions. But this photo, I could tell, was something special. Someone who meant that much to her, to make her act so differently - I doubt she needed the photo to remember him by. I wondered why she kept it.

　　　　ANIMALS

　　　　I heard the memory of myself screaming the word. It didn’t even sound like me. The pain of losing someone so close. I felt my scar, and wondered how many times she felt the same thing. Somehow, I don’t know how, but I knew that after the man in the photo, there was no one else.

　　　　“You’re a strange man to want to go through my things,” she said softly while she put the picture back into her breast pocket. Her hands brushed the weapon holstered under her arm on the way down, and I could feel my own eyebrows raise as I suddenly realized who the man in the picture was. He had the same weapon, worn the same way. It was his gun that she wore now. My eyes drifted away from the black and red pistol, looking downward again to the sheets. The shadows of falling snow were making a moving pattern of dots moving across the rough fabric.

　　　　She didn’t carry as much as I thought she would, for someone who had so many different pouches and pockets. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but it wasn’t every day you got to look through the belongings of someone like her. Looking back on it now, I don’t know what made me ask. But I’m glad I did. The things I found, aside from that photo, were so mundane and every day... For all the legends surrounding her, I found it funny for some reason she didn’t carry around amazing glowing artifacts and Zodiac data sticks. After so long of an unending life, the things she carried were so commonplace.

　　　　I looked up at her, seeing her look wistfully out the window, and saw her for what she was. I had never seen her look so tired before, but somehow I could see the weight of living for so long crushing down on her. The weight of outliving everyone you would ever meet, outlasting any artificials you came across. I felt the urge to say something or to comfort her in this moment, but I felt stupid for it. What could I say to someone who outlived everyone around them, watched as nations fell apart and the world died.

I opened my mouth, and my lips formed to say something. “Do you miss the sun?” I finally said while I looked out across the dim orange clouds outside.

　　　　“Yes,” she simply said. It was a quick response, she didn’t even think about it.

　　　　I thought about my question and the unintentional meaning behind it. I felt stupid and touched my scar again.