He sat at his easel and painted the view in front of him: the Earth from low orbit. He rendered the landscape in dark blues and blacks, with streaks and blotches of orange capturing human cities and highways blazing through the night. The familiar, sharp scent of the wet paint soothed him.
And yet, the painting was not working. Maybe it was too big.
View-screen pause,” he said. The recorded image froze. He set down his brush and hobbled to the bunker’s kitchen, examining the current selection of canned goods. Preserving the memory of humanity could wait until after dinner.

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