The party began when nearly all the starlight dotting the skies had flickered and faded away. The only splotch of color left in an endless black void fluttered far enough away from the station that its eventual collapse would be seen but not felt. It was a decorative piece in the abyss, the only proof that this universe still existed outside our bubble of metal and glass we built ourselves. 

A clock counting down the final moments of a dying star reached zero in the ballroom, a planet in some far off corner had either been swept up in a sea of celestial heat or left to freeze and wither. Now only one clock remained, counting for the last star, the one we orbited, close enough that I could feel the heat of it if I pressed my hand against the window separating myself and nothing, but far enough that the light of its swan song would still take several seconds to reach us.

Several seconds between us and the end of everything. 

The party was in full swing now, the noise rising from a dull drone to a deafening cacophony. The night was set to progress with themes, countries, cultures, histories, and civilizations. It would end with a candlelight vigil for our dying star’s funeral. A server held a silver platter right below my face as I spun towards the festivity. The tray was dotted with rolls of imitation sushi, a dish from a long dead world resurrected from the records of a long forgotten civilization. I waved him off, everything felt wrong. 

A star was a prerequisite for life, and here we were now, watching the heartbeat of the final sun flat line, and humanity’s own along with it. I found myself wishing this would all just end soon and hoping it would last forever. I threw myself into the crowd to try and put some distance between myself and the viewing wall. I knew if I didn’t separate myself I’d stand there, hand against the glass, right up until the end. Attendance here at the end of everything was not a question of wealth. What could money mean now? It was only a matter of whether or not you could make it here before the lights went out and the darkness enshrouded you. Luck, more than anything else. 

The wave of attendees parted just enough for me to be sifted through. Conversation drowned out the music, the blend of babble folding over in an incomprehensible churn of words with me whirling in the center. My gaze flew back to the window again, seeking that last marble of light in the dark, but I pushed forward, curiosity getting the better of me. There was not one bar, or two, but dozens in this gala room alone, many more dotted the rest of the station. In so many of the faces I passed, the disconnect between what was and what should have been grew more apparent as time drew us closer to the end. The last star would give a silent bow and the universe would draw its curtains closed. No big finale, no encore. As if it were an act of solidarity, more and more people joined the universe in that companionable silence. Their gazes cast far off between everywhere and nowhere, food and drink going cold in their hands. Others gorged themselves on anything they could get their hands on and the attention of those around them, as if preemptively filling the void that was to come. A trait that long stained the collective unconscious of man, however small that may have shrunk now.

Many had chosen to stay behind on their home worlds, happily fading with the embers. I admired them, but the need to see it all through to the end pushed me here. As much as I may have felt that this should be a somber moment, the last vestiges of life in the universe intertwined in a dancing orbit as the curtains drew closed, I understood that it was only human nature to want to go out with a bang. I looked back at the clock now, the end drew closer but not close enough yet to sober up the party goers. More and more trickled towards the viewing windows as the seconds counted down. Thousands of representatives from religions new and old circulated the station, hundreds glided around the room all offering answers to the question that everyone had but nobody wanted to ask. When all the fire in the world is extinguished, who will let us in from the cold? Where will we go? An infinite amount of answers were given to a singular question. Nobody really knew, but we would soon find out.

I pulled the thick gold and white curtains that draped the walls aside to cross into a quieter section of the party. Just before the pressure door, a man slumped against the wall, hands at his knees and his back lurching. The end would come and he’d be none the wiser. We all dealt with it in our own ways, processing oblivion was a personal matter. The only thing we all had in common was an innate need to huddle together here in the dark. 

The steel entryway twisted and split, then hissed shut behind me. The chatter of this section filled the curve of the station with a faint hum. The lights inside were dim, as if to draw all the focus towards the star. The clatter of plates and glasses rang out above the voices. Tables were filled with families and friends, people who chose to brave the unknown, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. I sauntered towards the viewing window and dropped down onto one of the couches. I looked up at the clock, nearly there now, then turned my attention towards the star. The darkness around it burrowed into my mind, oppressive in the same way a thick blanket was, but the infection was a welcome one. It cleared my psyche and prevented any incursion of thought. I don’t know how long I kept my view fixed on that dot in the distance. A hand dangled a mug in my peripheral vision. The sharp, welcoming smell of coffee jolted me away from the sun. I followed the hand up to a woman, a polite smile on her face. I waved off the coffee, unsure if I could indulge in anything at this moment, so close to the end.

“Mind if I sit?” She asked, her voice steady and calm. I was afraid if I answered mine would reveal the opposite. I shimmied along the couch to make room and she sat. When the red cushions stooped below our weight it drew me back to the sun. I suddenly felt painfully aware that the space and gravity that stooped around that star, that kept us in orbit around it, would cease to exist for but a moment soon. The orbit would remain around the black hole, but there would be nothing telling my senses that. 

“Are you sure you don’t want one?” She pressed the coffee towards me. I took it in one hand, then cradled it in two. The warmth reminded me of the glass I had spent so much of my time here pressed up against. 

“Beautiful. Isn’t it?” She said, the polite smile never faltering as she peered outside. I cleared my throat. 

“Frightening, but, yes. Beautiful.” I croaked. 

The harsh claxons roared to life, ushering in the final count down. Five, four, three, two, one. A burst of blinding, white light overtook the viewing windows. Bathed us in the throes of a dying sun. 

The star had died seven seconds ago, only now the universe had let us know. The light dimmed and dimmed until nothing remained. Absolutely nothing. Without a word we had all taken a moment of silence for the last light in existence, and it felt as if it might last forever. The stranger and I slid towards each other by only a hair, an imperceptible move but one that brought the collective comfort of all humanity with it. Here we all were, apes at the end of time. 

A flicker danced on the glass, a murmurer came with it.

“Must be a reflection or something.” Someone said.

“A trick of the station lights.” Another added. 

“Everything is off.” A shaky voice interjected. 

The stranger next to me hoisted up a single finger towards the glass. “Look.” She whispered. I followed her eyes. Far off in the distance there was a dot. No bigger than the eye of a needle if seen from the roof of a house. The dot grew, the flicker steadied. It was so far away, so tiny, fragile, and unknown. I wanted to run, I wanted to reach out and grab hold of it, to pull it in tight to my chest. As if it were answering my plea it began a slow, steady approach from infinity, hopefully to arrive sometime soon. 

There it was. Out of nothing, came something.