Edge

At the edge of the universe, far away from the milky way and its sun, where barely more than darkness was visible, sat a campfire, resting on the solidity that only the edge of the void can create, eternally burning though it had no fuel. Beside it sat a man who had long since forgotten his own name, or where he had come from, or how he had ever managed to roam so far away from home. He tended to the campfire, making sure that no far passing black holes or supernovas tugged at or pushed out the flames. He protected them, and they gave him warmth and light where there was so close to being none.

If he had once had a sense of time, it possessed him no longer. In the back of his mind he recalled a word called sleep, though he wasn't entirely sure what it meant or if it applied to him in any sense. Far on the horizon of space he could see the universe, ever so slowly turning and shifting. He could tell it was expanding, but as it expanded it pushed him and his campfire further away as well, so he was well aware that he would never get to be a part of it. He had accepted this long ago.

He prodded at the flames every now and again. Not necessarily to give them more life or anything, but merely to change the way that they curled and rose, so that he had something new to look at. He wasn't quite sure how often he did it, but it was certainly less often than he saw a black hole pass by. The distortions those brought as they passed, pulling in at the space around them, made them easy to spot from where he sat. He saw everything that the universe had to offer.

But he didn't see the approach of the other until she had already sat down beside him. The two looked at each other, dazed by the sight of another person, not entirely sure what to make of it. He could never remember seeing anyone who looked like him before, and from the look on her face, he guessed that she was experiencing a similar train of thought. But as they stared at each other, neither one of them said a word. Perhaps because they had long since forgotten how.

Noiselessly he handed her the prod with which he saw to the fire, and she took it and prodded the flames without needing to be taught how. The flames sparked and curled, shifting in shape before settling form and flickering on as it always did. And the two sat side by side and watched it burn.