Is this how it ends?
Is this the last light?
Some might have called this an apocalypse. They'd be mistaken, though it's easy to see the source of this interpretation. The quick, brutal annihilation only came at the beginning and end; you can hardly have an Armageddon with a thousand-year stretch of tranquility.
The big end was never supposed to happen. The collective hysteria that came about when the sun vanished, however poignant, was never part of the plan. Life was scheduled to evaporate over the course of around half a million years.
But what difference does it make? We still arrived here.
Where is this? Who is this? How do they still cling onto their last scrap of kindling, spark of electricity, anything?
How does the last lost sheep continue the habits of its herd?
None of this matters now. With no light to indicate shadow, no barriers are left for any of these things to bear any consequence.
The last wanderer can keep their shining facet of false optimism glimmering for as long as they want.
In the end, the darkness still consumes all.
The rain beats ever louder as the last light exhales, and quietly dies.