One Last Hurrah

Time collapsed with the inevitable crunching of multiversal cogs and gears gone mad. The scientists had claimed we’d know nothing about it, that one day we’d go to bed and wake up, the next, we wouldn’t. But we did. We stood in our crumbling streets as light and darkness battled with sound and silence, watching, nothing more, just watching.

There’s only so much a human mind can take, so much madness, so much pain, and mine was no different. Whilst most of Earth’s inhabitants wept, or grew angry, or both, I got even.

I climbed the tallest tower, until I stood beneath roiling skies bathed in an abstract, mauve light. Peering through the splits in time and space with the look of a man who wouldn’t be denied one last hurrah, I spied them. They sat in their golden kingdom of perfect everythings: the saved; the best and brave; the Holy Host; Him. They saw me then, horrified atΒ my insolence, stepping back in shocked anger. And, as all that was, is, and would be clanged a final chime of death, I blew a raspberry and flipped them the finger.

It made me smile, that last defiant gesture, made it worth it, that one last hurrah. Well, sort of. When the rest of humanity, both living and dead, made their merry way into the sky and the heaven beyond, I tried, too. I made it as far as those golden gates; Saint Peter stood waiting. He looked to me with gentle eyes, smiled, then blew a raspberry and flipped me the finger.

I still thought it was worth it, right up until everything ending, including me.


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