It’s Not The End Of The World

“It’s 11:55 Ray, we saved a sparkler or two for you.”

Upon hearing this familiar voice, the man at the desk drew a breath. He lifted his head out of his hands at a snail’s pace, resting a tired gaze on the woman in the doorway. Through the tangled locks, he observed his lone supportive companion, the only one who remained. Now the poor being observed the surrounding wasteland through dark, stressed eyes. The paper stacks, books, binders and folders, all full of strange pictures, hieroglyphics, scribbles, proofs, and theories. The empty cups, plastic plates and utensils, all like rotting bones under the humming fluorescent lights. It seemed the anxiety which filled the past three years had now reached a torturous peak.

“I- I can’t,”. His voice was barely audible. “I have to wait.” The standing figure’s face distorted with disappointment as her last-stitch effort fell short. There was loud silence now, as the whirring of the lights continued to fill the room. The pretty woman adjusted her footing at the entrance of the room and bit her lip to keep the tears inside. “I just thought-”. Unable to continue, she slowly rotated and began her exit.

“I’m really sure this time.” said the man with more effort and volume. It caused his friend to halt abruptly and her shoulders slumped. The shaky sigh from his best friend nearly broke the man’s heart right there. As she cracked open the door leading downstairs, there was a resonating flow of laughter. Many voices were audible, merging into a merry melody of enjoyment on the floor below.

“Please Jill, I know he’s coming, please.” His voice trailed off into a whisper, unable to suppress the whelming emotion any longer. He observed as his friend struggled also to hold back the tears. Through blurry eyes he saw her turn, brow bent in furrowed frustration.

“Why can’t you see it? No one knows when he’s coming back. No one. It’s not the end of the world!” She said, unable to continue with the impending sobs. With a quivering lip, the woman quickly began her descent back to reality below. Now the man’s head fell once again into his palms. His hunched back shook with every sob until there were no more drops left to fall.

According to the mechanical time-teller on the nearby wall, it was two minutes before midnight: a time when the eternity of waiting would conclude. The time when all the research, all the late nights, and all the endless strife would be proven either worth it, or a waste. For a trio of years, he had longed for and dreaded this day- the dawn of the 21st century. He questioned the confidence that had built up deep in his heart over these forlorn years. He had given up all hope of a normal life in order to pursue his wild fantasy of a prediction. If the Savior would not return in two dreadful minutes, at the stroke of midnight, he would have no more reason to live. So he sat, awaiting his dubious introduction into the kingdom of Heaven.

Now, however, he glanced hopelessly through the cracked door, left ajar by his closest comrade. He found himself in a limbo of decision, with two paths in front of him. The musty, forsaken scene around him was a desolate landscape of pain and hope, simultaneously. Down the flight of stairs was a place of elated celebration. Celebration of something known, something set, and something guaranteed. Down that single flight of stairs was a party of truth, and a gathering of like-minded friends. He longed for that. He wished for something guaranteed. But he had come too far to give up on his prophecy now… he had to see it through.

It was a little over a minute until midnight, and the bulbs overhead still buzzed a melancholy tone. This was when the memories began flooding in, like a dam had broken inside his mind. A flow of past arguments came rushing, overwhelming the sad, huddled figure. He remembered when he first stopped attending church, and the calls he received in search of explanation. He heard the voice of his father and the words he spoke near the beginning of this madness: Not one man knows when he will return. Give it up before it’s too late. Well, now it was too late, no matter what the greatest influences in his life would say. How many people had called him crazy? How many had abandoned him along the way? All the events leading to his downward spiral of insanity came to him at once.

With straining, he lifted his head to that clock, with its hands of destiny ticking. Thirty seconds remaining. Soon enough, the beings below would begin their chanting, every word bringing him closer to his impending doom.

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-six.

Twenty-five.

Overwhelming doubt attacked at the helpless form, its pangs of dread like daggers in his flesh. He pleaded with the God he thought he knew, asking for Him to once again send down His son. Verses of hypocritical prayer left his lips as beads of sweat dampened his brow.

Twenty-one.

Twenty.

Nineteen.

There were no more words to be uttered, and his focus shifted to the window at his side. The view created from this opening was of hellish darkness and gloom. There was nothing to be seen at the moment, but he sat in expectation of a glorious illumination.

Thirteen.

Twelve.

Eleven.

The chanting grew louder, synchronized in cheerful anticipation.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

This was it. He had not only reached the precipice of no return; he had jumped and now found himself free-falling with no influence on the outcome of this action. The only hope was that there was some sweet relief to cushion his fall.

Five.

Four.

Three.

A set of bloodshot eyes closed tightly.

Two.

One.

Silence.

There was a sudden flash of light, like the sun had collided with Earth. A ringing shot through the man’s ears as he shrieked in terror. Fading in and out of consciousness, he gripped and crawled along the ground. With superhuman effort, he blinked furiously and stared upwards from his place near the floor. There was a glimpse of a man, wrapped in that light, and then all went to black.

He woke, but kept his eyes glued shut. Disorientation plagued his brain, and he clawed at the ground once more. Then, in a moment of stabbing realization, he jerked up into a sitting position. Blink opened his eyes, quickly adjusting back to the gloom. He had been right. He had succeeded. His years and years of work had proven… worth it?

There was no buzzing of the fluorescent bulbs, and no chanting of the friends below. There were no cheerful laughs and no signs of life at all. Nothing suggested the man wasn’t entirely and utterly alone. There was a pounding, a thumping in his breast. His eyes grew wide and desperate. Another flash ensued, but this one seemed dim and orange compared to the heavenly beam that preceded it. Whipping his head towards the window, he exhaled a sharp gasp. There was the moon, glowing a bright red, and taunting him through the cotton clouds.

It’s not the end of the world!

The woman’s words sprung to his mind instantly, and he cried out in horror. In surrender, the man fell to his knees.

She was wrong. It was the end of the world…

… But he had been left behind.

(Beginning of) The End.