Forgotten, left behind. That is how the last man on Earth felt. Everyone around him was gone. They left his world without saying goodbye, without looking back. He sat in his field and wondered. Why me? Why them? Why here? Why, why, why?

At first, he started to wonder, but after a while, all of his questions had been answered. It was then that wonder turned to anger. His loyalty turned to hatred. He would not be forgotten again, he just would not. He looked around at his world, and he was disgusted. He would someday leave this planet like the others, and there would be nothing to show for it. He had to build. He had to create, otherwise nothing would matter.

So he planned, and he thought. He drew, and he designed. Then, he started to gather. He traveled as far as he could in order to find just the right rock. He did this many times, brought each rock back, and placed the next boulder upon the last.

After years upon years of work, his spire grew taller. He climbed to reach the top with the next rock underneath his arm. The pillar grew until the sky turned black during day, with stars twinkling behind the dark shade. It wasn’t until the man could barely breathe that the spire stopped growing.

Then a platform appeared on the very top. Now he could finally rest. He lied down on top of his spire. His world was now different. Night was eternal, and beautiful. The planet was now empty, except for one building. It was a monument to the will of man. He went from his field where he was left, to reaching up to the stars. The man, after so many years, finally closed his eyes. They stayed shut until They came back. From then on, whatever he did, wherever he looked, his thoughts were still with the spire.