Draft

The faceless Martian sky was so vicious that, for a moment, the abandoned cityline beneath it seemed to once more spring forth with life. Exotic skyscrapers, over three hundred stories tall, pierced the chaotic heavens in silent protest of vanished culture, their metal-workings withstanding the ages between the climax of man's ingenuity and the end of time itself; such structures had always persisted throughout history, but these were the final monuments, remnants in a land beyond time. Rust-coloured sand battered and climbed the walls, reaching desperately up to the hostile atmosphere as if to offer each and every grain to God, not wishing to be forsaken any longer, an eternity unbearable by even it. Defeated by the winds that lifted it, the sand then frenzied and fell, creating the desert floor and clouds that consumed all but the highest of structures - and in one of them, the last pocket of human awareness.

Inside of the 235th floor of a nameless Martian building sat two huddled figures, their faces contrasting the natural violence and turmoil outside, smiles and warm exchanges of words between one another flowing readily. The woman had aged gracefully, easily into her late 60's with a strong smile and laughter lines, which she didn't seem to mind in the least. Her hair flowed to her shoulders freely, a brilliant white that stood against the antiquated walls like the paint that had once coated them, long worn away by the ages; her eyes had the same quality, of a brilliant icy-blue. Her husband had once said to her in one of their usual discussions about life, "How do you manage to stay so beautiful and collected when the sky is falling around us?" She laughed, looking at him lovingly, admiring his own features. "Because the sky is falling around us, Tim," she started with a cheerful smile. "Besides, you call this beautiful? I'm a barely-living example of gravity's worst."  He smiled and agreed with her on all counts, provoking a playful glare and and new bout of laughter. They were young at heart, as she liked to say, "the two youngest people in existence."

They had laughed for what seemed like hours then, though time was a non-factor by that point in their lives. They ate from their years of fruitful storage when hungry, and drank from the still-functioning water-purifier located one story below when thirsty. They had made their bed from discarded mattresses found inside the building, and the septic system was a result of innovative engineering from the past, needing little to no repair; they had what they needed to survive.

Time passed like the sand outside, irregular waves of grains indiscernible from one another. Every moment for the couple seemed to mesh together and vibrate, sweep back, and then forth, memories mixing with their progressing perception - the only reliable thing in their minds was each other, because they knew that at any given time, their necessities could disappear. Their food would run low, the water purifier's fission-based battery would eventually give out, and they knew this and accepted it as a given. They were graced with the time that they had, and it showed in their eyes.