The world ended without me. In fact, I slept through it. When I woke up, my alarm clock was stopped on 11:11 AM. Don’t tell me about the irony in that number. I’ve heard it before, and retrospectively, my wish didn’t come true at all. Or maybe it did. Because dying would be better than living in this world… to some people. Not to me, though. I like it. Why? I don't know. It's peaceful.
The sun shines through a smog-free, unencumbered sky. The cities below are deathly quiet, not unlike a church during a moment of prayer. Occasionally, some sort of noise is heard, be it gunfire, yelling, or engine flares. Grass is starting to grow over the pavement and through the cracks in the concrete. Nothing has been mowed or kept up in years.
The first few days of the apocalypse were fairly hectic. People were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. I guess some were sticking their heads in the sand, pretending it didn’t happen, but it did. No point in pretending otherwise.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper
Isn’t that what T.S. Eliot said? Well it was a little bit of both, really. Most of the men were crying. Big, tough guys. The women were in shock. But from an outside perspective, it’s easy to think that they weren't as frightened. Maybe they weren't. Women are like that. And I know you’re wondering what brought about our mutually assured destruction, aren’t ya? Here’s a hint:
Zombies.
Of course it wasn’t zombies. Though it’s a little annoying that I spent months planning for the zombie apocalypse and for some reason didn’t even stock up enough oil for a generator. What the heck has Hollywood done to me? Though... I guess you could say it was zombies. That’s how most of the people act out there, now. Ravenous, cannibalistic, cruel. A little bit like before, I suppose.
Campfires occasionally sprout throughout the countryside. Small ravines connect to larger rivers along the fields. In one field, a cow lies disemboweled and rotting, maggots crawling inside of it. Beside the cow sits her calf, patiently waiting for the moment that is never going to happen, for the feelings that won’t ever be the same.
This is the way the world ends, not with a blog, but a Twitter.
No really, though. That is how it happened. You should’ve seen my newsfeed a few minutes after I woke up. One minute, people were taking Instagrammed photos of their Starbucks and the next they were all saying the same thing: What happened? And then, thankfully, Twitter stopped, too. I guess their facilities went to plaid. Some would call that a Godsend. Most teens probably pulled the trigger then and there.
No really, though. That is how it happened. You should’ve seen my newsfeed a few minutes after I woke up. One minute, people were taking Instagrammed photos of their Starbucks and the next they were all saying the same thing: What happened? And then, thankfully, Twitter stopped, too. I guess their facilities went to plaid. Some would call that a Godsend. Most teens probably pulled the trigger then and there.
Hey, here’s an idea for the apocalypse: Giant cockroaches from outer space!
No, that didn’t happen, either. And Jesus hasn’t come back yet. Though give him time. The Jews haven’t built their temple yet and I’m pretty sure this world is supposed to be messed up, anyway. The United Nations hasn’t done anything. But when do they? It takes a full committee just to reason out what cookies they have at their meetings. There are rumors going around that they set up shelters and safe zones. Safe zones from what? Maybe there are zombies. Or Nazis. I don’t know, I’m rambling. And anything could happen, I suppose. Back to religion for a mo, though. You should see the nuts out there, drinking the Kool-Aid, together. A bunch of them gathered in a field yesterday waiting for some comet, or flying saucer. Heck, could’ve been a teacup. They sat around for a few, cried a while, and bit the dust together. Their pockets were picked clean not two hours later. That’s what we are now, scavengers.
Dead bodies everywhere. Rampant bloodshed. Lawlessness. Racism. Rape. No place is safe from crime. New York City is as grey as ever. The lights went off years ago. Lady Liberty lost her head, and the Freedom Tower is just a relic, a symbol of hope from a bygone era. A time when people would wake up, take showers, eat out, go to movies, have relationships, and start the process over again.
You’re still wanting to know what happened, aren’t you? The truth is, I don’t really know. Like I told you, I was asleep. And the only news network working at the time was MSNBC and all they had to report on was how high Obama was in the polls at the time.
By all other estimates, he was nine points down. Were they wrong?
I just remember three, or was it four, faint concussive blasts, followed by silence. And then a lot of noise. But I could’ve been dreaming.
Ooh, here’s an even better scenario: Giant WOMEN from outer space.
So why am I writing this… letter? My own eulogy? I don't know. It's not like anyone cares enough to read it. Heck, most of the people left alive probably can't even read. They spent all of their learning money on .12 gauges and pistol grips. I guess I'm hoping there is someone good out there. Someone who cares enough to understand what happened. Or at least read this and decide they want to find out what happened. I used to be a car mechanic. Can you believe that? If I'm dead by the time you read this, and by all likelihood, I will be, look me up. I contributed to society just as much as anyone else. More so, really. People need cars working. Or they did.
Rusty ghosts of their former glory, Chevrolets and Chryslers lay in droves along the old highways. They're nothing but burned-out shells, empty husks, like that of a cocoon after a butterfly has transformed. Beautiful, in an eerie sense. Not entirely unlike rain during funerals. Heightens the mood. But butterflies? Me? I'm a moth to a flame.