text: Murdock decided today would be his last day on Earth. He would set out at dawn on foot and head west, away from the decomposing remains of the city on the coast, and by the time the sun sets he will end it all. He had grown tired of living. He had done several centuries of it. Some time ago, Murdock had set himself to becoming a god. Powerful beyond all measure. He had succeeded. He was immortal. He was Invincible. He had no need of food or drink beyond pleasure. Even breathing in the air was a force of habit. How he had accomplished it all was rather unimportant at the moment -- it was so long ago he barely remembered anyway -- what was important was the why. Had it all been worth it? As he pondered the events of his life, he climbed over the wreckage of downtown, over charred vehicles and collapsed buildings covered in the powder of skeletons that had turned to dust long ago. All because of him. He kept heading west. The suburbs were in even worse condition. It had been years since he had bothered to come out this far. Away from the steel and soot surrounding the fortress he had made for himself at the center of the city. He had expected to find the rows of destroyed houses covered in overgrowth of grass and bushes, but no. The devastation here was as complete as it had been in the city. In all the cities and towns and villages across the world. The extinction of the human race had started off quickly and in a white-hot fury. Several billion died in those first few days of Murdock’s personal war against the world. None could stop him. None of Earth’s mightiest heroes. None of the world’s biggest armies. Those who survived the initial chaos saw no choice but to serve Murdock without question or to hide. Those who hid he found quickly. Those who remained worshiped him. It had all been so satisfying. At first. Slowly, his reluctant followers began to die off. Disease, starvation, and infertility were soon common. Murdock had not been a benevolent or practical ruler, and the needs of a dying civilization came second to providing him with wealth and pleasure. After some time, he was all alone, and for a long time after he had convinced himself he was perfectly fine with it. Immortality and a whole planet to himself to do as he pleased. He had everything he needed. Now, as he pressed on, he was forced to remember how wrong he had been. He walked along the cracked and crumbling highway with memories flooding his tormented mind. Memories of the first few times he had roamed the planet, content to just marvel at the destruction he had caused. What a fool. He believed he could do this forever, but he had grown bored with it after only a few centuries. What an incredibly naïve and short-sighted god he had become. Now he still had billions upon billions of years to go. Until the death of the Sun, which he would presumably survive. Until the eventual heat death of the universe, which he might also survive. And then what? Floating in the endless void of a cold, dead universe with only his memories to keep him company? He could bear it no longer. No. He would end it. He would head west, slowly racing the sun. And when it dipped below the horizon in front of him, he would snap his own neck. When he reached the outskirts of the city, he began to use his power of flight. Taking a leisurely pace over the highway, Murdock still quickly found himself out above the expanse of greenery between cities. Not long ago he had begun to believe that, despite his regrets, maybe he had done the planet a favor by getting rid of the plague that was the human race. That maybe now at least the wildlife once so abundant on Earth could once again begin to flourish. But it was not meant to be. The planet was now riddled with radioactive fallout, both from the weapons humanity used against him and from the nuclear reactors that went critical in their absence. Now all that was left was vegetation and the few insects resilient enough to survive. It was one of the things about his existence that Murdock hated the most. The constant buzzing of insects now free to reproduce unchecked, with even Murdock powerless to kill them all. And so now Murdock, the self-made king of the planet of bugs and plants, found himself in a vast field in the middle of nowhere, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear over the horizon, and he was ready to do it. He was ready to end his life. His only solace was that if there was a Hell, at least it would be more stimulating than what he would have ahead of him if he stuck around. And if there was no afterlife at all, then all the better. He slowly placed one hand across his chin and the other behind his head. With a quick, sudden motion, he whipped his head to one side and snapped his own spine. The sound it made was louder than anything he had heard in decades other than his own frustrated screams of boredom into the sky. But something terrible happened. Murdock did not die. He simply slumped down, face up, and was paralyzed. He was catatonic with disappointment. Not only did breaking his own neck not work, he could not even move to try another method of self-execution. His worst fears will now play out slowly over eons. He will lay here, covered in bugs that will constantly try to eat him, but never succeed, looking up at the sky as the sun eventually turns red and engulfs the Earth.