The Last Human On Earth

I’ve always found it laughable that we humans think that it’s our ability to experience emotion that sets us aside from computers and robots and whatnot. How is it that in the thousands of years that we have had to ponder our humanity, people are still blind to how inherently lacking this definition is. It’s not our ability to experience emotions that makes us human, it’s our inability to control them. We can’t consciously choose how we feel about a situation. Whether we are overjoyed or pained by something is not consciously up to us. We are at the mercy of our own subconscious and that is what makes us inherently human.

I closed my notebook and readjusted my sitting position on the grass to awaken my sleeping leg. The giant oak tree I sat under did well to filter the intense heat from the sun, diluting it down to nothing more than a pleasant warmth. The breeze, just strong enough to play with the pages of my notebook, was remarkably cool for such a hot day. I found it incredibly important to notice and appreciate details such as these. I mean, who else would be able to take in all this beauty? I am the last human on Earth after all.

For the last 18 years I had been coming to this park. In the beginning it served as nothing more than a playground for an overly energetic boy. I would sprint here after school with my friends to climb the oak tree that I sat under now. I’d always dreamed of building a treehouse, but with parents who never wanted anything to do with me, it was difficult to find the resources and knowhow. I remember vowing to build one for my children one day. What a pity that never worked out.

As I grew older the park became something more of a peaceful space. A place where I could gather my thoughts and write my stories and poems without being under the relentless scrutiny of my mother. She never did approve of the time I spent at my desk, writing. She knew I wanted to be a writer and would constantly try to steer me towards a “more viable career”. Thanks mum.

Now I visit the park because there is simply nowhere else to go where I feel comfortable. I have no friends or family. They’re all dead. The breakthrough in neurological programming by Empath Industries made sure of that.

A few years ago, the tech giant developed a device they called the Empathiser that could manipulate the release of chemicals in the brain that are responsible for emotion. They claimed their product would revolutionise things like couple’s counselling, where someone would be able to physically experience the emotions that their partners were feeling to better understand each other’s point of view. It seemed to everyone that they had pure intentions and, honestly, perhaps they did. But harm is harm regardless of intention.

Over time the technology became more accessible, and you could find Empath Industry’s pride and joy in every home in the world. The Empathiser was a metal container that kind of resembled a shower cubicle in size and shape, with a thick translucent glass door. People would shut themselves inside and a series of carefully calibrated electromagnetic pulses would stimulate the release of specific chemicals in the brain, making them experience whatever emotions they had chosen using the selection of dials on the control pad. An ingenious machine to be sure but quite morally ambiguous.

It started slowly, where the Empathiser was simply used by most as a pick me up in the morning before work. A little boost of “happy”. Not unlike drinking a hot cup of coffee to perk yourself up. But over time, people became more and more dependent, and their use became excessive. People began to use the Empathiser as a means of avoiding the feelings that came with a breakup or a loved one dying. They denied themselves the feeling of grief, pain, and sorrow. They became mono-emotional monsters where they no longer mourned at funerals but instead sat there grinning from ear to ear with not a tear to shed.

Over time the brain became desensitized to its own happy chemicals and people began to need more intense dosages in shorter intervals. Which brings us to the present day. At this point everyone is past the point of no return. If they stopped now, they would probably die and so the demand for the devices has become enormous. Empathiser units can now be found in every home and workplace, with some units even being found in public restrooms for people on the go. Those who could afford them could be seen sporting the miniaturized portable versions of the device in the form of earbuds. Empath Industries, intentionally or not, had enslaved humanity. And everyone was happy about it. Well…forced to be anyway. Except for me. Something about me makes me incompatible. They don’t work on me. I got bullied at school for needing more than quadruple of a normal dose to even feel a slight zing. I always thought there was something wrong with me all those years ago but now I see what a blessing it was.

It sure is lonely though…

I was awakened from my daydream by the vibration of my phone. I pulled it from my pocket to see a message from my father reading: Your mother has collapsed :)

I froze for a second, reading those words several times before it sunk in. I felt my heartbeat quicken as the dread emerged from within my stomach and spread throughout my body. I had read reports of people beginning to collapse due to overuse of the Empathiser. About a year ago people had started dropping dead because the devices were simply not cutting it anymore. The brain would go into a permanent depressive state, a withdrawal powerful enough to interrupt the body’s most basic functions — breathing and even a heartbeat.

I grabbed my backpack and threw it over my shoulder as I broke into a sprint towards the park gate. As I ran towards my house, I passed my neighbour, old Mr. Jones who grinned stupidly at me. I’d watched him bury his dog a few days ago. His smile hadn’t even faltered as he’d dug the grave and the spring in his step remained as he had marched back to the house. Georgie the loving, bright eyed cocker-spaniel deserved better.

As I approached my house, I could feel a stitch in my chest beginning to burn but I didn’t slow down. I kicked open my front gate and ran up the garden path, scaring away some birds that were cooling off in the birdbath.

I burst through the door to see my father sitting on the couch watching TV, laughing hysterically and completely ignoring my mother who I found on the floor in the kitchen.

I knelt beside her and grabbed her wrist to check her pulse. Nothing. I positioned my ear near her mouth hoping to feel her breath, but there was nothing. She was dead. I sat back on my heels too stunned to move. Everything was fuzzy and I couldn’t focus on anything. My dad’s laughter from the other room sounded distant and muffled.

After a few minutes I managed to gather myself and I returned my attention to my mother. I only now noticed the pained expression on her face. Her eyes were wide open in fear and her face was twisted, as if years of neglected pain, fear and sadness had hit her all at once. I ran my hand over her eyelids, closing them. I realized my hands were trembling and only now did I begin to feel the nausea spread through my stomach. I felt so cold suddenly, and my chest felt brittle as if the tiniest off knocks would shatter my torso into a million pieces. How could I feel so much pain over someone who treated me like dirt? She never cared about me, so why do I feel so…empty? I guess the human brain is complicated like that.

And so, as I sat next to my mother, a woman who had never treated me like anything other than a burden, I did my duty as the last human on earth. I did what no one else in the world was even capable of.

I began to cry.