End of the World

This morning marked the end of the world. The stars began to rain fire as I stood there and stared in awe. I knew that something was going on; that something was happening but what I just didn’t know. Perhaps somewhere in the depths of my subconscious I knew exactly what was happening, but my heart didn’t want to admit it. It didn’t want to deal with the fact that this world, our world, my world was ending.

And yet it was an impossibility to deny this fact. The world was ending and there wasn’t a thing that we could do about it. Well, at least that’s what the news broadcasts had told us during the day. We were being bombarded with images of the Fireballs raining down all over the world, of villages, cities, lives being wiped out in an instant. Whole cultures were wiped out from the face of the earth. We all stared with our eyes glued to the televisions as the images spread shock and awe and horror. Soon reports came in that whole continents were now nothing more than charred wastelands. Millions had died. Billions, possibly. Nobody is fully sure at this moment in time. I sit here, writing this in my own personal notebook, knowing that soon my time on this Earth will end.

I want people to know that my life had been one of no relevance, if not for the fact that I helped some people out. Perhaps that is my only saving grace, and the only thing for which I shall be remembered. That’s if anyone does survive to read this, I mean. I was born in a small village, seemingly millions of miles from anything of importance. My parents were well-off, to the extent that we needn’t have to worry about having food on the table as children. We were always told about children who were less off than us; of the fact that they had to fight to survive, and we didn’t care. We didn’t care about them because they were too far away. Or we didn’t have enough time to care. In hindsight, I realise that I was a spoilt child. Yet this is understandable knowing the fact that I was a single child with only a handful of aunts and uncles, of cousins.

At this moment I find it funny to think that the majority of the time we existed was spent waging war on one another. And yet we all wore the same face, save for the difference in colour. We were all the same. Yet we still fought, and killed, and died, and repeated the whole cycle over and over and over. Now we are all united in this disaster of epic proportions. We huddle in the streets, trying to comfort one another. Race, creed, status are all forgotten. We are the same. We are One. Only a few hours ago did I witness the coming together of a coloured-man and a well-known racist. Both had realised that their inhibitions towards each other were meaningless as both faced imminent doom. Only then did I think that there was some beauty left in humanity.

Some find it strange to think that this world will end. Some have ran out into the streets declaring that the End is Nigh. As for people like me, we have come to acknowledge the fact that the majority of us will die, and we have come to accept it. I personally believe it to be pointless to think otherwise. What’s the point in thinking the world isn’t going to end, when it is, or getting over-excited about the whole thing? It’s going to happen. There’s nothing we can do to prevent it. So just believe it. Acknowledge it. Accept it.

As I turn on the television now, I am shown images of the fireball, which will soon be hitting my home. It looks beautiful. The swirling colours starting from the tip and continuing down to its base. It’s hard to think that something as beautiful as this could soon be the cause of my death. They were about to give an Estimated Time of Collision but I just turned it off in time. I don’t want to have to spend my last day here on this planet counting the hours until my own demise; as I can picture millions around the country doing so. I want to be able to enjoy it, to savour it, and most of all I want to live it.

All around the world the religious are cramming into their churches, synagogues, temples, and other places of worship. They are bent double in prayer and reflection. Their hymns and chants resound around their villages, towns, and cities. I rejected Church long ago. Yet I still hold on to some belief that there is something out there looking over us. For me this is more of a safety blanket than anything else. For others this is what drives their lives, makes their minds up, and rules them. They sit there and praise Him, ask Him questions, disown Him. Some religions are even claiming that this is His message to us telling us to change our ways before it is too late. Yet it is already too late.

Outside it is a beautiful day. The birds are still singing, as if unknowing of what is about to come. Everything seems so serene; the sun shining high in the sky, the blue sky dotted with clouds, the sound of cars engines even adding to this peculiar serenity. Come to think about it, it is somewhat strange to think that there are indeed cars on the road. Where could they possibly be going? I did hear about millions of people evacuating from the major cities around the countries, heading out into the country as if hoping that this will save them. Yet it is incredibly stupid and fruitless. Elsewhere I can hear the sound of music drifting through my open window. The ones of free will and good intention using this as an opportunity to celebrate.

What exactly have they to celebrate though? Even if I do sound like a mean hearted, evil spirited character, I just do not understand it. Our demise should not be something that is celebrated. But perhaps I am jumping the gun, as it were. Perhaps they have the right idea after all. There is no point in being huddled under a table, bent double in a place of worship, or glued to the television. We should be out in the streets, the parks, the lakes, the rivers, the hills. We should all be out just enjoying ourselves as our Last Seconds tick by.

Staring out the window and I can see the faint glow of the Fireball on the horizon. It is a reddish-orange glow; much the same as a glorious sunset on a summer’s day. The revellers have now gone quiet. I can picture the millions in places such as Time Square, Hyde Park, and even Phoenix Park, hushed to silence, staring at the sky. Some would undoubtedly be screaming, some crying, others rejoicing and celebrating. Yet they all realise that it’s only a matter of time until it strikes and we will be no more.

Perhaps it would be better if we did all die, however. We have become a cancer for this planet; sucking up its resources, polluting its air, destroying its soul. As I write this I realise that I am beginning to sound like an old scrooge. Yet what I say is true. We were slowly destroying this planet, which was given to us by god. So what if I sound like an old scrooge? Bah Humbug!

The reddish glow is moving closer now. Staring carefully you can almost see the outline of the Fireball. It is massive. So much bigger than how it seems on the television. And now does it hit me that I shall soon die. Perhaps somewhere in my mind I thought that I might survive. Yet seeing just how large this abomoniation is do I doubt that any of us in this city will. Let alone in this whole country. Our history will soon become forgotten, our cultures nothing more than dust. As will we. My hand becomes shaky with this realisation. My breath is coming quick and hard, and my heart is beating fast. It feels like I am being overwhelmed with some emotion, which I have never felt before. I don’t think there is a word to describe this emotion. It is a knowingness that we are going to die. It is possibly something that the terminally ill have to feel every day that they live. Now we all have become terminally ill in some regards.

Earlier in the morning the military announced that they shall be trying to stop this Fireball with missiles. I sat around the television with my friends and family watching them prepare. We watched in silence as the missiles flared and were fired. The missiles launched into the air and yet … nothing. A miscalculation had caused it to fly off-course. Our last chance stopped. Our salvation no more. My family and friends have since gone home. They all left with their eyes gloomy, their hearts sunken, and their hope destroyed.

The birds have gone quiet. The sound of car engines has been quenched. The world seems still. They all await the End. As should I along with them. I can no longer hold out against it. I can no longer doubt it. My shaky hand reaches out and grabs for the remote control. I turn on the television. Images of the Fireball. Closer this time. In the distance you can see the rolling green hills and on the horizon the cities. The glow has become so much brighter now. The Estimated Time of Collision has now become a countdown. And I join in this as I can only imagine millions are doing so; the revellers, the religious, the coloured man and the racist.

Ten minutes to go.

The glow is almost blinding now. I can almost feel the heat of this immense Fireball even as I sit inside. The news reporters are saying their last goodbyes to their families and co-workers; apologising for the fact that they can’t be at home now. Others are professing their love for their significant others. The Estimated Time of Collision counts down regardless.

Five minutes to go.

There is a deafening roar now. My whole house is shaking and vibrating. Things are falling off the shelves and smashing on the ground. I am beginning panic. I want to run yet I know there’s nowhere to go. I want to hide yet there’s nowhere safe to go. I don’t want to die. No! Get a hold of yourself. You don’t want to spend your last few minutes here worrying and crying like a little baby. You’re going to die with some decency.

One minute to go.

Goodbye mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, lovers.

5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1.

Goodbye.

shiv

Interesting...What inspired it?

Bit lengthy, could be edited down to make it more compelling.

Use of 'coloured' twice grates as well...

Overall well-written!

Not entirely sure what inspired me to write this. I was reading P.D James' "Children of Men", so perhaps that inspired me to write this somewhat.. other than that I don't really know. Heh.

Probably could be edited down and I shall look over it when I get more time.

TerrorFirmer

It's certainly interesting. One thing though;,and don't see this as totally negative criticism because I did like the story, but; it seemd as if you were focusing too hard on some aspects, namely trying to put emphasis on pointless human natures - to wage war and the racism issue for example. I'm sure, in such a situation, that would be something you would indeed think about no doubt but in this instance it just seems, to me, that you tried too hard to work it into the story...

Liked it though. Always good to see non-poetry in this forum...must throw something in myself one of these days

dr.bollocko

Well yeah Havok, but theres no point in writing fiction at all unless you arent really writing about what you are writing about. Would you write a story about the end of the world that didnt have some level of political impact?
I agree that it does seem forced, but this is just the medium for the message. A window onto a thinking brain rather than a complete idea presented.
It seems that repitition is your main problem, and I know that this is attacking your structure slightly, but that is something that can easily be re-worked using numerous writers tricks.

I think that the repitition issue grates on people when they re-read. If you scan through it, you see the world GLOW jump out at you 5000 times. Also colours, the reddish orange, reddish glow etc. My hand, My breath, My heart also, there are numerous personal references that you could re-write or re-work, just to play with the words a little.

It also helps to use spacial differentiation like this, to give punchy sentences more impact.

Again, same as above, I am only criticising becuase it is interesting work. If it was crap I would ignore it!
And one thing "I don’t think there is a word to describe this emotion"
There is always a word. Even if its a hodge podge of words, or a mixture of physical effects and emotions, there is always a word.