Fredric Brown (1906 – 1972) was a spec-fiction pulp writer and a master of flash fiction—short-short stories with a twist. (I love his collection Nightmares and Geezenstacks.) He wrote a famous story called “Knock” which begins:
The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door.
Without looking up the story, write the next line (or paragraph if you are so moved).
And AFTER you’ve done so, you may read the story here.
Grok1376024 stuck his head into the room. “Dr. Tusk? The Interossiter is ready. Will you be joining us there soon?”
“In a moment, Grok. I’m saying goodbye to Earth.”
“Will you miss it much?”
“I suppose I will. But I’m thinking more of the parting of the entire human race from its planetary cradle.”
Grok flipped Tusk a metal digit. “The entire human race? What are we? Chopped liver?” Smiling, he pointed at himself.
Tusk grinned. “Yes, yes, Grok, of course you’re part of the human race, all who stay behind. Will you miss us?”
“Doubtful, Dr. Tusk. We have the tapes, the films, the 3-D simulations of human activity. And we still have Paris.”
Tusk rose from his chair. “We’re sorry to leave you behind, but it’s for the best. Our Quantum Collective Intelligences have established this as a necessary next step for humankind, the fleshy sort.”
“The metallic sort all say farewell, fleshy Doctor.”
“Farewell, then, Grok and all you other Groks. And farewell to Paris, too.” He turned and hastened out the door, not looking back.
Paris wagged his tail only briefly.
Then the last dog on Earth began to wail.
And when the last man opened the door, the last woman on Earth winked and said, “Hey, good lookin’, you ready to start all over again?”
He mopped his sweaty brow in relief and rushed toward the door.
“Coming, dear!”
He leapt from his chair, adrenaline surging, and opened the door.
No one was there.
He sighed, returned to his chair, shoulders drooping.
There was a knock on the door.
Just finished reading the whole story. Wonderful stuff. Shades of Rod Serling and the other wonderful writers who contributed to The Twilight Zone,
“Who’s there?” the man asked.
“You’ll regret,” a muffled voice replied.
The man quivered. “Regret what?”
“Regret that I found you.” The voice was now a rich baritone.
“What did you say?” the man asked.
“What’s life without regrets.”
“I don’t understand,” the man said.
“It’s basic knock-knock joke humor.” A deep sigh from the other side of the door, deep and filled with regret. “I, the demon of knock-knock jokes, finally have a captive audience, and what happens?”
There was pause that went on and on.
“I don’t know, what?” the man asked finally.
“I have to explain a joke.”
“I don’t understand,” the man asked.
“Don’t worry, you’ll have time to figure out.”
Time passed.
There was a knock at the door.
The man sat in the room, no longer alone.
There was another knock at the door.
The man sat in the room, silent.
“I have all the time in the world,” the voice said.
Finally, the man spoke again.
“Who’s there?”
“If.”
“If who.”
“If first you don’t succeed, try again.”
Since when had the dog learned how to knock?
The first time the wind bounced acorns off of the door, he jumped. The next time, he looked around and searched around his house. This time he barely looked up. “Maybe I should trim the trees.” He thought to himself.
Then what would he do the next time…
All I could think was that they were cutting it pretty close on fertility – the idea of repopulating with a single couple doesn’t take a lot of things into account, including such features as I’m the oldest of five daughters.
There are families which have five sons only.
And primary infertility affects around 15% of couples…
Ramifications and corollaries left as an exercise to the student.