I feel powerless, of course. I am the only non-degenerate matter left in this Universe – what if I were to join the flock?
I paused for a year. How should I proceed to a black hole? I can’t even breathe in here – not real breaths, with air’s minute reaction mass.
Another year passed as I mulled over the problem before I came to a solution.
The most ridiculous sight in the universe was thankfully the most private: the last living being in the universe pulling out head hairs – then body hairs – one by one and flinging them hard in order to build up velocity towards the strongest of the gentle gravitational tugs.
As I fall with terrible sluggishness into this singularity, I wonder if I’ve made the right decision.
I stretch as I’m pulled through tidal forces like a die in a pasta machine – but, of course, I remain alive. I feel through the excruciating numbness of my diaspora the quantum fluctuation that an eternal being in its undeath throes, apparently, experiences as it gives birth to a universe.