Nothingness uncoiled its interminable length through the draughty spaces at the end of time. Death waited. After a while his skeletal fingers began to drum on the handle of his scythe. Darkness lapped around him. There wasn't even any infinity anymore. He attempted to whistle a few snatches of unpopular songs between his teeth, but the sound was simply sucked into nothingness. Forever was over. All the sands had fallen. The great race between entropy and energy had been run, and the favourite had been the winner after all. Perhaps he ought to sharpen the blade again? No. Not much point, really. Great roils of absolutely nothing stretched into what would have been called the distance, if there had been a space-time reference frame to give words like "distance" any sensible meaning any more. There didn't seem to be much to do. PERHAPS IT'S TIME TO CALL IT A DAY. He thought.
Death turned to go but, just as he did so, he heard the faintest of noises. It was to sound what one photon is to light, so weak and feeble that it would have passed entirely unheard in the din of an operating universe. It was a tiny piece of matter, popping into existence. Death stalked over to the point of arrival and watched carefully. It was a paperclip. Well, it was a start. There was another pop, which left a small white shirt-button spinning gently in the vacuum. Death relaxed a little. Of course, it was going to take some time. There was going to be an interlude before all this got complicated enough to produce gas clouds, galaxies, planets and continents, let alone tiny corkscrew-shaped things wiggling around in slimy pools and wondering whether evolution was worth all the bother of growing fins and legs and things. But it indicated the start of an unstoppable trend. All he had to do was be patient, and he was good at that. Pretty soon there'd be living creatures, developing like mad, running and laughing in the new sunlight. Growing tired. Growing old. Death sat back. He could wait. Whenever they needed him, he'd be there.
Terry Pratchett - Eric