(sabhaxlia:

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Your boat eventually landed at a small town. Squares and circles, still humid and wet.

"You aren't squeamish about corpses, right?" she asked.

"Why?" you asked.

"Well, a lot of the people we'll meet will be ghosts or corpses, so, you know. Dead people can be people too sometimes. Don't lose your appetite if lunch is made by a skeleton!"

She wasn't wrong.

Wandering through the town, maybe a fifth of the residents were either obvious corpses, joints replaced with iron hinges, empty eyes gaping, staring at you, or ghosts, transparent dogs. All going about their business. You were the weird ones here, but like she'd said, this place was used to weird. You got strange looks, but nothing more.

You couldn't understand their language. You didn't understand how she could talk to them and they understood her, but they couldn't understand you? It didn't make sense. Nothing had made sense in so long, you just went along with it.

She lead you to an inn. It had a bar, on the ground level, and she rented a room, you understood, at least, that much, from context. It was a tiny thing, barely big enough for the two of you. You think the patrons gave you strange looks--renting a room with a stranger like this, just for a short time, what else would they assume you were doing--but you really just wanted a bath.

She let you have one. She didn't need one herself. She seemed unaffected by the mud, the humidity. Not just that she wasn't bothered by it--it never seemed to even touch her in the first place. You didn't question it. The first bath you'd had since the world ended, and it felt wonderful. The water was so hot, and fragrant, and you soaked far too long, until she got worried, and knocked, and made sure you were all right.

And then you went to get lunch. Dinner, by now, according to your stomach.

So many of the houses had holes cut in the walls where they sold food right onto the streets. You and her bought so much, so many things, such delicious, garbage fast food, and ate it outside.

"So," she says, as you finish your third fried disaster. "We need to talk about what you want to do."

You lose your appetite. Things are turning serious, now?

"I don't know," you say. "I didn't expect to survive the end of the world? When you fantasize about that, it's usually you as the last survivor in the world, and the world's still there. Not that there's nothing left--and you're, in some world where everyone's dead dogs, now."

"I know. Well, we don't have to figure anything out soon. It'd be nice just to have someone to drag around for a while. But no reason to not start thinking long term! The way I see it, you got three options. Four. Four options."

"Okay," you say. "This isn't my wheelhouse, show me what you got."

She laughs. A curt, high-pitched, animal barking. "Well! Let's list them from worst to best. Option four is you kill yourself. You can't handle being the sole survivor of an entire universe and you kill yourself. That'd suck, because no one knows the stories of your world except you. If you die, all of those stories die with you. It'd be like a world dying all over again."

"I don't really want to kill myself," you tell her.

"Good. Option three, I drop you off somewhere you like. We find a place that works for you, you settle in as a drift. Probably this world, actually. Lots of worlds already crammed together here. Maybe the City in the Middle, that's nice too. It's this city floating in the Void, and it's connected to hundreds of worlds. Very cosmopolitan. But you came from a small town, didn't you? That might be overwhelming. We could find you a new home though."

That doesn't sound... terrible. You just nod, slightly.

"Option two! You become a right and proper drift. You do what I do! Wander from world to world. It's pretty good. It's okay. You see a lot. Be a super-tourist, basically. You'll never want for something new, at least. If you're a homebody maybe you wouldn't want it? But it's nice. You were eager to tell me a lot about your world. You were a good listener for the stories about mine. I think maybe you'd enjoy it. Think of all the places you could see! All the horrible food you can try!"

You aren't sure. That sounds... overwhelming, honestly, in its own way.

"And option one. The best and worst option. You become a new world."

"What?" you say.

"Well, your last thought, just before you were about to cease to be, was that you were sad you wouldn't see how a story ended. And you had--so--MANY stories to tell me about your world! I'm sure you even remember more! You're so full of stories. You could do something with that. Become a place for more stories to happen. You'll never see the end of that book, but you'll see the birth of so many more. So many stories, filling you up."

"And how do I become an entire world?" you ask her.

"Eh. Lots of ways. You won't be you anymore, so it's like option four. You, who you are right now, that'll probably stop existing. But you'll become a place for millions of people to live out thousands of years. I'll visit, you know. Come see what you make. But that's long-term. In the meanwhile, do you want some more fast food? I have room in me for some fried nuts. Let's get some fried nuts."

You aren't sure about what you want from your new chance on life, but you do want some fried nuts. "Yeah. I think what I want in life right now is fried nuts. Let's fill up on those and see where we are then."