Within the crumpling ruins of an underground civilisation, a single living thing remains. Atop a large stone pillar, alone in the otherwise dark cavern, remains a small potted flower. Day in and day out, it sits alone in the sunlight and moonlight of the passing days while the occasional storm provides it with water that is otherwise impossible to obtain.

The flower had been placed by a young woman who, like the rest of her kind, was washed away by the flow of time. Her face and achievements long being destroyed with the final members of their once populous race dying out. The last thing that her now faceless and nameless past grows alone in the expansive caves she once called home. The flower grows quietly as the world below crumbles and the world above thrives. The curse of loneliness the small plant has been given unknown to its non-existent mind as it grows from its small red terracotta pot that had been careful crafted centuries ago that had words engraved into its side.

The flower survives alone as the cave fills with the nocturnal wildlife of the underground cave systems but all of it stays away from where the small flower grows due to the light that the flower survives off. From its position atop the circular stone pillar, it can see the blue sky above as the sun radiates down atop the small flower. The edges of the oldest trees can be seen covering some of the hole that allows the small flower to thrive alone. The sounds of birds echo down through the hole in the roof while they live in the trees around the hole. But without a mind to comprehend the world around it, it merely grows alone in the light that pushes the darkness of the underground away.

One day however, the sound of chatter echo through the cavernous location. For hours the occasional chatter can be heard in the caves that the small white and yellow flower grows in until the echo of steps can be heard from the position atop the circular platform that receives sun and moon light. More hours pass before off the side of the pillar, a hand appears before the head of a young woman appears and she looks at the small flower with at first curiosity before her eyes show awe.

The young woman pulls herself onto the top of the pillar that is drowned in the sunlight of day and the moonlight of night as she walks over to the small flower that has thrived for centuries alone. She crouches down and carefully picks up the potted plant and inspects it. She spins it around until she sees the words on the smiles.

‘While our race will fall, I hope my last memories will thrive.’

“Well, they sure did thrive.” Whispers the woman as she descends down the pillar and makes her way home. Once there, she finds a sunny spot within her garden and places the centuries old potted flower there to allow it to thrive, just as the woman from all those years ago hoped it would.