The circus was empty. The only sound was of the clown crying in the ring. The man in clown makeup howled long and hard. He was sad that he had no audience. Not any more after the bombs had fallen.
He had survived somehow. But the emptiness in the world depressed him so every evening he put on his clown makeup and tried with varying degrees of failure to entertain his invisible audience.
The stalls were gathering dust. But the clown danced on. He was sitting in his chair in middle of the ring one when a massive heart attack tripped his body's machinery out of gear.
He flopped on the ground like a fish out of water when he saw scaled feet on the ground in front of his face.
"Last of the humans." The first voice said.
'Too bad that he's dying."