The first thing thought that passed through my head when I woke up that morning was, “Here we are, the last day.” I rose from bed and began to dress, preparing to gather the things I would need.

We had all known for some time what was coming. Our scientists had seen it, predicted what might happen, what would probably happen. There had been time for mourning, time for panicking, and then time for acceptance. We had done what was necessary for the survival of our knowledge and our race. We had said our goodbyes to places, people, and things.

As I walked around the city, taking in the sites, making mental photographs of these amazing buildings, statues, even the few residents who had not already moved on to the settlements in the new areas that would be protected from what was coming. It made me sad, but as I said, acceptance had come. I took my time, lingering here, remembering there.

As the sun started to slide downward in the sky on its journey to the West, there was nothing left to do but head down to the harbor to the ship that was waiting to take the rest of us away.

The wind picked up a bit and we made good time, so that we were well away when the beginning of the end came. Even at such a distance, I could still see the smoke begin rumbling upward from the birth of the huge volcano. Luckily, by the time the eruption came that would cause the darkness and the tidal waves, we would be far enough away to be safe. I hoped.

As the sun finally sank below the horizon, I felt a tear slide down my face. I silently said one last goodbye as I headed toward my cabin, leaving behind me the last sight Atlantis that anyone would ever see.
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