Inktober 2025 - 7 - Starfish

The three men closed the rusty warehouse door behind them, in a great creaking sound. Their faces were covered in dirt, and they looked stern. They came to sit with the rest of the group, in the middle of the great hall, letting out a heavy sigh as they did. Everyone remained silent for a little while, staring into nothing.

"Why did you call him Starfish?" asked one of the younger boys suddenly.

"You never asked him?!"

This idea seemed to bring the shadow of a smile to the lips of the three dirty men, as well as to those of some of the other older gentlemen in attendance.

"I thought I might insult him or something," pleaded the youth, embarrassed.

"Er… How do I explain this?"

The man looked around at his companions of similar age, trying to find the words. One of them volunteered to help him:

"Starfish are creatures that live in the sea. In water, like a puddle, but much much bigger. And salty. Before human civilisation collapsed, people used to sometimes keep starfish in aquariums, as pets. Aquariums are are essentially glass boxes. And when in an aquarium, starfish usually stick themselves onto the glass like… well, like he used to do."

The man gestured vaguely into the air, designating someone that was no longer here to be pointed at.

"It sounded better than Suction Cup," added one of his friends, getting a laugh out of their audience.

Silence fell again, and with it, sadness quickly came over everyone once more.

"Are we going to board up the rest of the windows?" asked another boy after a little bit.

He pointed at the one Starfish used to sit at, which had been condemned with a few planks. The older men shrugged.

"Probably. It seems we should have done that a while ago."

Regret poured over them at the thought that maybe they would still have their friend with them if they had.

"We are all going to die, in here," grumbled yet another young man, dark.

"That's not really in question. What matters is whether or not there is going to be anybody left once we do, and that… I think not, no."

The older man had started by wanting to temper the pessimistic statement, but he found that he could not.

"So what are we boarding up the windows for?" continued the same boy.

All he got for an answer were bewildered expressions, so he continued:

"Starfish spent every day, from dawn to well into the night, at that window. And even though it got him killed in the end, I don't think he regretted it. And I don't know about you, but I don't want to die in the dark. No offense, Mole."

The blind man smiled, amused at the afterthought.

"None taken. I get what you mean. I would quite like to feel the breeze on my face as I go."

Without a new generation to secure, what was the point of all these sacrifices they kept making for self-preservation?