text: Today was the day. The console chimed cheerily as the icon for Earth popped up on the dash. After a communication issue with ground control some while ago, the pilot of ship 45-B had lost consciousness and the system had warped into deep space. Sometime later he had reawakened from the quiet warmth of cryosleep. He wasn't sure of how long he had been away, but he was sure the world would have changed for the better. The warning lights flashed on as the ship decelerated from hyperdrive. The void brakes activated on the winglets and the ship shuddered to a halt. The pilot deactivated the auto-travel system and moved the controls into position, pressing forward, the ship began to move towards the planet. The surface of the continent below was shrouded by a thick cloud cover. He spoke into the microphone. "Ground Control, I'm descending. I can't wait to tell you guys what I've seen! My family will be waiting, right?" Nothing but static. The pilot dismissed this as a minor error in the comlink. When the ship broke the cloud cover, an expanse of brown and grey was laid out before him. Crumbling ruins of the once proud nations were strewn across the landscape. Seas drying up, forests burning, streets empty, cities crumbled. The ship chimed again as it picked up the faint transmission coming from an empty landing pad. Descending through the city, he stared desperately out of the cockpit waiting for signs of life. Everything was still. The ship landed with a soft bump and the crew cabin opened. Compressed air shot out of vents clearing any remaining debris off the ship... the apparent one remaining shining example of humanities success. Dashing out of the ship, he fastened his helmet and began running. Past the main gate, past the guard booth, and out into the street. Rubble was strewn across the avenue, cars crushed and still burning. Moving over to a decrepit news stand, the pilot rummaged through the papers until he found a readable copy. The headline read "End of Days? War Breaks out Between Super Powers" and a picture of a hydrogen bomb sat in the center of the front page. Returning to the ship, the pilot ordered a full scan of the surface. In minutes, the scan completed and returned with a red warning. The details included tidbits about dangerous radiation levels, abundant toxic materials, and a despairingly thin atmosphere. The pilot, however, was transfixed on one statement. Human Population : 1. Location : Local. Everything was gone. Families. Friends. Cities. Nations. Everything. Defeated, the pilot walked to where the park would have been. He sat and dreamed of the days before launch, where the birds would sing and the skies were blue and life was good. As the wind picked up, the Pilot looked into the horizon. An alarm went off in the suit warning of an incoming storm. A radioactive sandstorm of sorts. Removing his helmet he turned to face the approaching wall of wind and debris and readied the kill switch for life support. He spoke softly, a single tear forming in his eye. "Major Tom to Ground Control. I'm coming home." Writing Prompt based on images.