**PHOENIX: RISING FROM THE ASHES**
I walked the streets of the lifeless city, each step heavy, as if moving through molasses. The man wasn’t young anymore, yet not quite old either. His gaze—sharp, alive, but weary—skimmed over the hollowed-out buildings, searching for remnants of the life that had slipped away.
The wind howled like a mad thing, rattling the skeletons of broken lampposts, snatching rubbish from the ground and whirling it into grimy pirouettes. The posts groaned and swayed but stood firm, stubborn—much like the man himself.
He paused at the advertising pillar, as he did almost every day. The faded posters for long-cancelled plays were achingly familiar. He didn’t even know why he looked—hope for something new, perhaps, or just the habit of it.
“Ah,” he sighed into the emptiness.
These days, he only spoke to himself. A voice, even his own, made the silence less suffocating. Suddenly, a clatter—a tin can clanging against a bin. Something rustled inside. He stiffened, stepping closer. At that moment, a lamppost crashed down right where he’d stood seconds before. Its top clipped the pillar, tearing away a layer of posters, revealing an advert beneath: *Cats*, the musical.
Stunned, he glanced between the fallen post and the image of dancing cats before the sound in the bin drew him back. He pushed aside debris, plastic, rags—and froze. Amid the rubbish, two amber eyes stared back. A scrawny, battered, bloodied cat.
Without thinking, he shrugged off his coat, spread it on the ground, and scooped the wretched creature up. Wrapped tight, he hurried home, forgetting his usual sunset stroll.
Behind him, the drone’s voice crackled through the air:
“Attention. Thirty days remain until the final evacuation flight…”
Today, he didn’t listen. His world narrowed to the cat. Days blurred as he tended to it—food, bandages, baths. Slowly, the creature transformed—fluffier, brighter, more alive. A ginger sun with glowing eyes. Once, he mused aloud:
“Not fond of being alone, eh?”
The cat rumbled in agreement.
“I’d grown used to it,” he admitted with a shrug.
One evening, fingers tracing through the cat’s fur, he murmured:
“What should I call you?”
The cat blinked lazily.
“Phoenix. Yes—that’s it. You’re a proper Phoenix.”
That settled that.
When Phoenix had fully recovered, they ventured out again. The city was still dead, still silent—but no longer quite so empty. Together, it felt different. And it was then, as they walked a dust-choked path, the drone’s voice returned:
“Three days remain until the final evacuation shuttle departs.”
Five years ago, the exodus from Earth had begun. A dying planet—climate collapse, famine, disasters. Humanity had united, fled to Kepler-22B. Only the unwilling or unable remained. He was among them. No wife, no children. Just memories. But now, there was Phoenix. And with him, doubt.
The night before departure, neither slept. The cat purred through the dark, as if soothing the man’s thoughts. At dawn, he packed—meager belongings, the cat in a carrier—and set off for the airfield.
The crowd was a patchwork: some leaving, others seeing them off. Children, evacuated by decree. Souls clinging to hope.
The shuttle’s name loomed large on its hull: *PHOENIX*. He smiled—signs mattered.
At security, an officer stopped him:
“Open the carrier, please.”
“It’s Phoenix. He’s a cat,” the man said.
The officer frowned. “Pets aren’t permitted. The genetic archive’s already been shipped.”
“But he’s… got no one. Neither have I.”
“Sorry,” came the flat reply. “The cat stays, or you do.”
Silence. Inside the carrier, Phoenix tensed, eyes darting. Then—decision.
“Right then, Phoenix. Not our time. Let’s go home. Cheers, officer.”
They watched the shuttle shrink into the sky. The man, hollow, fed the cat. Dusk settled. He shouldered the carrier. One last look upward.
Then—a spark. A craft peeling from the satellite belt, descending fast. Minutes later, it landed. Out stepped… the same officer.
“You! Good—you’re still here! Move, get in! *Phoenix* is waiting!”
“But… the rules?” the man breathed.
“Captain’s orders. Phoenix belongs on *Phoenix*. Omen, that. And rules… Well, sometimes staying human means breaking ’em.”
The craft surged upward, carrying man and ginger cat toward a new life—one where Phoenix had risen, and led the way for the man who’d once chosen to stay behind.
