Untitled

The world will be ending soon.  Sometimes I wish I had been there at the start, to see that first spark, divine or otherwise, that started it all.  But then again, watching it all come apart could certainly be interesting as well.

It is strange how at the end, you look back on all the things you thought were so important and realize that they just don't matter at all.  I used to come up here to escape from it all, to be alone.  I was always feeling like I needed my space, needed to get away.  Now I realize, the last thing I really want when it all comes crashing down is to face it alone.

We are all in this together, in a sense.  I mean, we all know its coming.  I look out over the city.  I see the smoke rising already.  Turmoil and chaos.  It's not safe there anymore.  Everyone is trying to escape, get away somewhere.  This is my spot.  I don't think anyone else even knows its here.  They all loaded their husbands and children and dogs and as many worldly possessions as they could into their cars and are out there stuck somewhere on the interstates, trying to flee from one disaster zone to another.  Me, when I heard the news, I just packed a bag and started walking.

And now I'm here, alone.  Watching as the world burns.  And the apocalypse hasn't even started yet.  Wouldn't that be something?  If they came back and said, "Oh wait, never mind about that whole meteor thing.  We were wrong.  Mankind will go on after all", only to find it's too late and we've already destroyed ourselves?

I guess this is why I always shut other people out.  I always wanted to be the best at everything, and I only viewed other people as the ones I had to beat to get there.  That kind of attitude leaves you very lonely, and I thought that was what I wanted.  I thought surviving the loneliness was a strength, a victory in itself.

I own my own home.  At least I did.  Well, I guess I still do, it's just that I'm pretty certain it's destroyed by now.  Big screen TVs, computer, jewelry, the antique furniture they may not even realize is valuable, it's all there.  I have an alarm system, but I shut it off before I went.  I think part of me was waiting for this day, the day when all I had worked for would become meaningless to me and I would finally be free.

But am I free, really?  I'm up here all alone, having abandoned my old life of things and accomplishments, only to find I'm shackled by something else:  the very fact that I have escaped.

Perhaps part of me still wants to flaunt my victory.  Perhaps I don't want someone here with me now to comfort me so much as I want someone here I can triumph over.  I want someone to see my strength and perseverance and to see that I'm not afraid.

But I am afraid.  My God, how I am afraid.  And there's a thought:  God.  Where is he in all of this?  Is the end of the world something he's doing to us?  Was it always going to be this way?  I've heard of the people always predicting it and always being wrong.  I was desensitized.  But none of them predicted this end.  Maybe that means it's actually going to happen.  If God is real, will he let it end this way, or will he step in at the last minute and save the day?  That sounds like something I would choose to do, if I were God, let them all panic for a while and then step in to save them all, show them how much they need me.  I really am kind-of a mean person, at least I used to be.

But no, if God is really out there, I don't think that's what he'll do.  He let the world run wild for so long, doing whatever it wanted, this seems the natural way for it to end.  The threat of a meteor crashing into earth and destroying it all, the panic and destruction we reap upon ourselves as we wait for it to happen.  Not knowing what to do.  Helpless on our own.  I think God would just let that play out.  Helpless on our own.  Maybe that's the point of this all:  we're helpless on our own.

I guess all there is to do now is to sit and wait, and try my best not to panic.  When I think about it ending, really ending, I find it hard to breathe.  Maybe if I just lean back and close my eyes, when I open them again, this will all have been a bad dream.  But I doubt it.  I don't really want to close my eyes.  As scared as I am, I still want to be wide awake when it happens.

And I want someone to be here with me.  But who can I call?  Who would come out here who isn't already panicking?  There's no one.  No friends, no family.  No one will come.  And I'm pretty sure my cell phone reception is shot all to hell anyway.  Hell.  Is that where we'll all soon be?  I guess all we can do is wait and see.

Wait and see alone.

What was that?  In those bushes?  I thought I heard something.  Standing, looking, could it be I won't actually have to face this alone?

A man steps out.  He looks surprised to see me.  Business suit, torn; glasses, crocked; hair, disheveled; but a bit of a handsome look to him nonetheless.  He speaks.  "I didn't expect anyone to be out here."

I reply.  "Neither did I."

"This used to be my spot, when I was younger."

"It's my spot now."

He nods, seeming there's not much more to say.  I don't want to sound hostile.  I just don't know how to sound inviting.  My heart is pounding.  I don't want him to go, but even now my pride stops me from saying so.  I expect him to turn, but he doesn't, he comes closer until he is standing right beside me and then he sits down and stares out over the city.  I sit beside him.

"I never thought it would end this way."  It's him speaking, not me.

"How did you think it would end?"  That one's me.

He shrugs and reaches up to wipe some dirt from his face.  All he manages to do is smear it.  "Not in my lifetime, that's for sure.  I guess I never thought about how, just when.  The answer to when being 'Not in my lifetime.'"  I hope he isn't going to start rambling now.  Maybe I was wrong about not wanting to be alone.  He sighs and turns to look at me.  "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm just not sure how to deal with this."

"And you think I do?"

He looks down at his scuffed up shoes.  "Well, you certainly seem calm enough.  Your reaction to me coming through those bushes seemed more alarmed than the expression you're wearing now."

My turn to shrug.  "Not much I can do."

"There's always something you can do."

My head snaps towards him.  "If you really believed that, you wouldn't be up here with me right now."

He smiles.  Not sure how he can smile, but he does.  "I wasn't talking about me."

I shake my head and frown more deeply.  "Well, you can't be talking about me; you don't know me at all."

He, somehow, continues to smile.  "I thought I wanted to be alone," he says.  "I was wrong."

My heart skips a beat and I'm sure I must look surprised to hear him say that.  "Me, too," I say softly, almost in a whisper.

Still smiling, but more softly now, subtly.  It doesn't seem so out of place, somehow, to be smiling like he is now, within hours of the world being destroyed.  He holds out his hand to me.  "I'm Abram," he says.

I give him my own hand and shake firmly, but not too firm.  "Sarah," I say.

He lets out something between a snort and a chuckle.  "They're from the Bible, you know," he says as he releases my hand.

"Who?"

"Abraham and Sarah.  God gave them a son long after they were too old to have children."

I wrinkle up my nose a bit trying to understand his point.  "What does that have to do with anything?" I ask.

He shrugs and looks back at the city.  "Maybe nothing," he says.

In the silence, I decide to follow his gaze as well.  After a few more moments of this he says, "There is sort of a tragic beauty to it all."

I find myself nodding, though I don't know how I could agree that there is any beauty in any of this.

"If you could go back," he asks, turning back to look at me, "what would you have done differently?"

"I would have loved," I say without really thinking.

"You would have loved more?"

I shake my head.  "No.  I would have loved.  Period.  People, I mean, not possessions and accomplishments."

He nods and then sighs as he looks back towards the city again.  "I guess it doesn't matter anyway," he says.  "That's one thing we can't do is change the past."

"All we can do is come to peace with the present," I find myself saying.

His head jerks back to look at me again.  He seems somehow surprised that I would say that, but then he smiles, again, that same strange smile that somehow seems to fit despite the apocalypse.  And he holds out his hand again.  After a not so brief hesitation, I take it, and we sit there, holding hands in the grass, watching the smoke continue to rise.

"It used to be so peaceful up here," he says, "when I was a boy."

Silence.  I have nothing else to say.  I look up at the sky.  You can see the meteorite in the distance, just a bright red dot now, but it's coming closer.  Something like twelve more hours from now, I think it would be.  I have to admit, I've kind-of lost track of the time, since it's essentially meaningless now.

"So this is how the world ends," Abram mutters.

"I think that's a poem," I say, somehow feeling a little lighter.

"Huh," is all he says.

And we sit there, hand in hand, waiting for the world to end.