Seconds before midnight, the very end of day six.
John Doe throws his trembling hands to his temples, sweeps the Petri dish with its recalcitrant cultures off the lab table onto the floor with his right arm, and leaves.
The viruses and bacteria search out John Doe.
Last day, last minute, last seconds, last drops of warm blood left circulating in the last warm blooded flesh in the known universe, rotting in the beauty of a warm evening sunset all pinks and mauves and deeper purples.
Last man left standing, John Doe, a bruise on the face of the universe.
Last man left standing, John Doe, so riddled with suicidal cMRA that that was really all he was, methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus.
Community acquired, of course, except there was no community left to acquire it from or to pass it on to.
Last man left standing, John Doe, just a host for the ultimate dregs of disease.
Last man left standing, John Doe, on the slide, on the slide into oblivion, the Petri dish a long lost memory.
Last man left standing, John Doe, the only disease advanced enough to actually think about apologising for all the destruction.
Not that it actually ever did.
No one left here to know the universe.
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