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In the Minimalist Universe the sun exploded for the millionth time and ignited some gas, and a star creature evolved, on just one planet there was just one specimen. This being had just one thought, looking up at the starless sky.
The being’s appendages picked up sand but couldn’t keep it. Its limbs turned to sand, too, and though the sun hurled closer, there was no heat.
Its one thought eroded slowly, with the warmth and the structural integrity of the star creature. “This is me,” it thought, the last time it thought at all, “and it is getting colder.”