text: I stared at the woman with bloodshot eyes; my lips were cracked from weeks of exposure to the harsh, wasteland elements, my skin coarse and sand-blasted, my clothing was ragged and filled with holes. I thought I was the last one alive. I've not seen another living soul in... I don't even know anymore. Whoever the nukes didn't kill, the wasteland finished off. And yet there she was. A woman in her 40s wearing a spotless white suit, grey streaks in her jet-black hair giving her an aura of dignity and elegance while her round sunglasses gave her an air of mystery. It almost looked like she was having a picnic - a small table with tea, two chairs, umbrella above it all for shade. I didn't even know where to begin to understand. "Oh come now, David, I won't bite. I even have biscuits," she said warmly. Her voice was slightly raspy, yet pleasing to the ear, calming. It exuded warmth. "How... how do you know-" I tried to ask, but a coughing fit interrupted me. "Please, sit. The tea is perfect. I know you haven't drunk anything clean in quite a while." I wanted to resist, to question, to scream, but I was too tired, too hungry, too thirsty. I fell into the comfortable, cushioned chair as if my body weighed a tonne. She handed me a porcelain cup filled with tea and I desperately lapped it up; it tasted like heaven after surviving on polluted water for so long. She refilled my cup without a word. "How do you... *akh akh*... how do you know my name? Who are you?" I finally asked, reinvigorated by the tea. "You have questions; I understand. There will be a time for me to explain all of it in detail later," she said. "Am I dead? Or hallucinating? You can't be here, I mean. You're... clean, normal. You have tea for fuck's sake," I said with as much gusto as I could muster. "David! Language," she frowned momentarily before returning to her previous, relaxed smile. "You're not dead. But you are the last human alive. Good job on surviving, mind you. Have a biscuit," she said and I hungrily accepted. "How bo yu-" I started but decided to swallow first, "how do you know that? *Who are you*?" I insisted. "God. Well, *a* God. The details are complicated," she smiled gently. There was something immensely soothing about her presence. "*Oh*," I said. There was a time when I'd scream and question the claim; I'd shake her, demand answers, accuse her of all the wrongs, beg forgiveness. Those times are gone. I've seen too much, did too much. I was too tired to doubt it. "We sure fuc- - messed things up, didn't we?" I said, defeated. "Truthfully, I've seen worse outcomes. Death is a mercy compared to some fates," she remarked ominously. Another coughing fit seized me; when I pulled my hand away from my mouth, it was entirely covered in blood. I looked at her; she saw it. "Radiation, right? I suppose I don't have long," I said with a weak smile. "You don't. I'm sorry." There was genuine grief and sorrow in her voice. "Will it hurt?" I asked. "I'll make sure it won't." "Thank you," I said and looked at the dark brown horizon. We sat in silence for a moment while I chewed another biscuit. It was amazing. "What happens next?" I said, eyes still locked at the horizon. "That's why I am here, David," she said and sipped the tea. I looked over to her, a new wave of confusion rising through me. "What do... what do you mean by that?" "I know what you've done these past few years, David. You know what conclusion I came to?" she asked curiously. My heart sank. "No," I whispered. "You're a good man." My eyes darted up to meet hers; she took the sunglasses off. Her eyes were... it was as if they were filled with milky fog, white with different hues of colour lining it, constantly shifting, moving. "You're wrong. I don't care if you're a god. I'm not," I said sternly. "You tried to help when possible," she said. "I stole." "You shared." "I killed." "When no other option existed." "I KILLED MY WIFE FOR FUCKS SAKE!" I yelled and threw the cup into the desert; tears flowed from my eyes, a mixture of anger and grief filling my being to the brim, ready to burst. "I know," she said softly with slightly raised eyebrows; a mixture of pity and understanding. "I also know that she was in pain and there was nothing you could do to help her. It was mercy," she said kindly and I slouched back into my chair, sobbing softly. "Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?" I whispered. "I want your help." "With what?" I looked up and wiped the tears from my eyes. "The next one," she said. "There is much you could help me with, make the next one better, avoid all... this," she said and waved her hand towards the wasteland, the sand, the broken skyscrapers. "Because you're good. Flawed, yes, *but still good*. I need that perspective. And you deserve a break," she finished with a soft chuckle. I pondered the offer for a moment. "Can I even refuse?" I asked. "Of course. You'll pass into the afterlife gently if you do. It's an offer, not a command," she smiled. I looked back at the world. My world. Broken beyond repair. The rivers evaporated, the lush green forests burned. All that we've made, all that made us great, vanished in the nuclear blasts, and what survived withered away in the wasteland. We could do better. I know we could. "Will I see my wife again, in the afterlife?" I asked softly. "You will. Even if you decide to help me. I'm... I understand how you value her." I paused for a moment, thinking. But what was there to think about. "Alright. Where do we begin?" I asked with a newfound resolve. "No need to rush, David. You've earned some respite," she smiled and put her sunglasses back on before handing me a new cup of tea. "For now, sit with me. Drink some tea. Watch the world end with me," she smiled and raised a cup to her lips. Sounds good to me, I thought and took a sip.