What Comes After

“What does extinct mean?” the rose-colored beetle asked, staring at the dead insects pinned to a display case. “Why are these individuals considered extinct?”

            Auguste looked up from his notebook and turned toward the beetle and the display case.

“Oh…” Auguste looked back at his notebook, jotting something down before shutting it. “Well, they are considered extinct because they are believed to have died off.” Auguste stood from his chair, letting out a groan as his joints popped.

            The rose-colored beetle stared at the pinned insects for a while longer. Auguste watched, one eyebrow raised with curiosity. It was strange for him; he had never spoken to an insect before. Nonetheless, he enjoyed answering the beetle’s questions about the world.

            “I’m sorry you saw them,” Auguste said after a silence. “I usually don’t keep them out, but my grandchildren had pleaded with me to show them my collection.”

            “Collection?” The rose-colored beetle turned around in its container, looking up at the man. “There are others?”

            Auguste stared at the beetle for a moment, uncertain as to how he should respond. “Well…”

            “How many are there?”

            “There are quite a few in my possession,” Auguste said hesitatingly. “Even more are kept at the museum where they are typically displayed for people to see.”

            The rose-colored beetle turned back to the case, once again silent, like it was pondering upon this knowledge. A part of Auguste wanted to comfort the small thing, but how could a human understand the struggles of an insect?

            “How will you label me once I’m gone?”

            “Based on what I know about your species, you will also be labeled as extinct once you’ve passed on.” Auguste scratched the backrest of his chair, uncomfortable with his answer. “We’ve tried finding more of your species, but…” Auguste didn’t feel the need to explain further.

            “What will come after?” The rose-colored beetle partially turned toward him. “What will happen to this world after I’m gone?”

            Auguste considered the beetle’s question as he stared at his collection of extinct insects, his mind wandering. What would happen to the world had the roles been reversed, had he been the one asking the beetle these questions?

            “Nothing,” Auguste said. “The world will forget about you and continue spinning for the rest of eternity. Other species will come along, and they will someday meet a similar fate to your own.”

            Once again the beetle fell silent, staring at Auguste with those small, black, beady eyes that lacked expression. After a few moments, it turned away from him, gazing at the display of extinct insects.

            “What a pitiful fate.”