The Last Human Alive on Earth Just Sent Me a Friend Request

The world didn’t end with explosions or fire. It ended with silence. One day, streets were filled with laughter, traffic, the chaos of humanity.

The next, they were empty. No voices, no movement—just me, sitting in an abandoned café, scrolling through an offline internet that no longer made sense.

I thought I was the only one left.

For months, I lived with that belief. I ate from cans I scavenged, slept in empty apartments, and screamed into the void just to remind myself I still had a voice. Every night, I whispered to myself: You’re the last. Accept it.

Then, one morning, my dead phone buzzed.

I stared at it, confused. The towers had been offline for ages. The internet had collapsed with everything else. But there it was—one single notification. My heart stuttered in my chest.

A friend request.

From someone named *Eli.

I laughed at first. A cruel trick of the dying network, I thought. Some ghost of data finally reaching me. But the request didn’t disappear. It blinked, waiting, like a heartbeat.

With trembling fingers, I accepted.

---

The first message came almost instantly:

Eli: I thought I was the last one.

I dropped the phone. My whole body shook. After months of loneliness, here was proof—someone else was alive. Someone had Wi-Fi, power, breath in their lungs.

I typed back.

Me: Where are you?

There was a long pause. Then:

Eli: Not far. But don’t come yet.

---

Those words haunted me. Don’t come yet.

Why not? If humanity was down to two survivors, shouldn’t we find each other? Rebuild, or at least share the unbearable weight of being last?

But Eli kept sending strange messages. Small things at first—warnings about places to avoid, advice on where to find unspoiled food, which buildings were unstable. He seemed to know more about the ruins than I did.

Me: How do you know all this?

Eli: I watch. I’ve been watching you for a long time.

That’s when the cold fear set in.

---

I stopped sleeping properly. Every creak of the empty city felt like eyes on me. I tried to stop responding, but every time I ignored him, another message came.

Eli: I saw you take the red can from the corner store.

Eli: Don’t go back to the library. It’s not safe tonight.

Eli: You’re lonelier than you admit. I can help with that.

How did he know where I was?

I smashed the phone once, thinking I could end it. But the next morning, another device buzzed—an old laptop I hadn’t even touched in months. Another notification, another message.

Eli: You can’t shut me out. We’re all we have left.

---

Last night, he sent the most chilling message yet:

Eli: It’s time. I’m coming to you.

I don’t know what to believe anymore. Part of me is desperate—hungry for a face, a voice, a hand to hold. But another part is terrified. What if Eli isn’t what he says? What if he isn’t human at all?

The world didn’t end with silence after all.

It ended with a friend request.

The world ended in silence—empty streets, broken buildings, and me, convinced I was the last human alive.

Months passed with only my footsteps echoing through the ruins. Then, one morning, my dead phone buzzed. A friend request appeared. The name: Eli.

I accepted, trembling.

“I thought I was the last one,” the first message read. Relief washed over me—until his next words: “Don’t come yet. I’ve been watching you.”

Every day, more messages arrived. He knew where I scavenged, when I slept, what I whispered to myself at night.

Last night, the final message appeared: “It’s time. I’m coming to you.”

Now, I don’t know what’s worse—being alone, or not being alone at all.