No More Tomorrows

Like falling feathers, they descended, those of golden light and purest white. Soundless, the heavenly host alighted on every surface: roofs; trees; paths; car bonnets, everywhere and on everything.
We thought they’d come to save us, to escort us to that better place, at last. Instead, they took us in with those deep, sad eyes, shook their heads in synchronised shame, shining manes shushing like the oceans and flew away.
I remember it like yesterday because we’ve never had a tomorrow since.

50 Word Stories: At Last

The end. The big full stop. The grand finale. The last hurrah. Whatever you called it, this was it. Nothing left but rocks, rubble, bones and me. There was no sun, no sound, just a pinprick sky and a few lonely meteorites without an atmosphere to burn up in. Perfect.



The sky collapses in globs of lead. All that remains of the city once named London will soon be crushed. I would run, but I have nowhere else to go, so here I remain. There is no moon, no stars, just the crusted remnants of the clouds, solid and untrue. Heaven sinks ever lower, and at some point it will fall forever. I have no intention of letting myself be flattened by the weight of the universe, but I am too much of a coward to take my own life. I shall perish in obscurity, but how remains unclear?


Why I need to be outside when everyone else is in, I do not know. Families cower together praying for salvation; I have no family and want no salvation. The planet grumbles and tumbles its protests drowning out all but the loudest screams. I care not for I have become fixated by how long we all have left. I count the seconds as they tick in time to my pulse. I doubt there any point to counting by the minute.


The once great clock, Big Ben, towers over me. The behemoth’s gigantic dials creak ever on, its tiled head poking up in defiance to the sky. Perhaps the temporal beast will pierce the cloud bursting the balloon of uncertainty, set us all free. Perhaps so potent a symbol of mankind will defy the earth it stands upon, remain rigid and unbowed. But, I am a realist, and know that the heaving, cumulous giants will not succumb so easily. Still, there is comfort in looking up to that face that has seen so much. It is reassuring to bask in the false assumption that if the giant timekeeper has survived the eons as it has, then it may continue to do so. There’s always a chance, isn’t there?


A flash of jagged lightning shatters the moment. The explosion is more rainbow shards than golden forks. Even so destructive a force of nature is corrupted at the end. What did they do to the world? Why did no one stop it? I regurgitate the same old questions when I should plot a chosen demise. A grumbling as of God’s hungry belly growls in agreement. I believe he wants rid of me now, rid of us all. I can’t shake the feeling that here as the apocalypse engulfs me, I should not mire in the past. But when there is no promise of a future, what else is there to think about?


A cat hurtles by, the freedom of the city his. I smile despite the acid rain that slides from above. The semi-wet stuff stings my face, cuts sliver-thin trenches across my flesh. If not for my glasses, I would be in far more pain than I am; my inability to fit a contact lens has never been so useful. I watch the almost-liquid settle on my jacket. The stuff pools then consumes the leather in slow motion. If nothing else, it passes the time.


The roof of cloud is even lower now, ever descending. I don’t think I would know for sure but for the fact Big Ben has lost his pointy hat. A shower of tiles scatters through the air each one narrowly missing me. Two steps to my left and it would all be over. Knowing my luck, wherever I stand they’d still miss. I contemplate climbing under one of the deserted vehicles, perhaps, break into the archive that was once the Houses of Parliament, but I cannot. I am stuck, my feet refuse to move, my mind as gelatinous as the atmosphere. Everything is changed, everything is wrong. Only Big Ben’s incessant ticking offers security from the onset of madness.


The sky has reached the clock face now, the heavy clouds nibbling at the ancient landmark. The universe impinges upon our own private space seeking to take it back by force, reclaim what we only borrowed. An atmosphere abused to the point of extinction licks at England’s shell, rolls it around pulsing lips, before spitting it back out. The aftertaste must be unpleasant. I know just how it feels.


I’m scared, at least, I think that’s what it is? The inevitability of impending death has hit me and I crouch low to the ground. A little ball of what once was a man huddles before all I now despise. There must be some irony in there somewhere, but my usual sarcastic self is past caring. Another rumble, another few meters lost, as bit by bit Big Ben crashes to the ground around me. Pieces of a legacy we never thought to lose are being exterminated before my tired eyes. It’s all such a shame, such a waste of time and effort. The twisting of fractured metal interrupts my solemn thoughts. The sounds of inhuman resistance screeches through the enforced night. I cannot take my eyes of the clock, as dark hands are ripped loose from its crumbling façade.


The last time count for Planet Earth is exactly three thirty-five. I can no longer recall if it is morning or night, they have blended to one. I can’t help thinking that a strange thing to be worrying about as the clouds collapse, the clock falls, and I’m crushed beneath the hands of time.



Caped, drifting phantoms all, we stared at what remained of the moon. That’s all we ever did. Pockmarked and punctuated by the very same asteroid that careened into the Earth, the bitter irony, it was not us who’d ended it, after all. All those threats, the fear mongering, the supposed inevitability, and, instead, all ended by a rock. It was no recompense, no solace to the ghosts who remained, but at least it had changed the view.


Switzerland 05 035

“Unimaginable,” they said. “It could never happen.”

But it did. The world stopped spinning. Just like that, we woke to fallen trees and beds cast aside, humans flung here there and everywhere, animals, too; clouds hung in limbo like marshmallows waiting to roast, the sun stationary and forlorn. Those who’d survived the emergency stop, like me, thought it a bad dream, a nightmare one couldn’t wake from. It didn’t stop us trying, though. I watched others screw up their faces, blink eyes, weep, but no one could make it disappear.

“Unimaginable,’ they said.

“No more than we deserved,” said I.

The Answer (Drabble)

Would the end of the world spell the end of all things, or the beginning of something else? A question that needed to be answered. That’s why I built my rocket and headed to the moon. There, I set up shop and waited.

The end came in a trillion explosions of sunburst and gloom. I saw it all from my window unable to breathe in all that death.

I still don’t know the answer though I’m waiting with hope in my heart. I pray it comes soon. An answer’s not worth a dime if you’ve nobody to share it with.

An Angel Wept

She waited, wouldn’t go. When the others departed, she remained. In feathered beauty, a subtle vision in white, she was and forever would be, the last.

The divine lantern slipped into the finality of night in insipid ripples of gold. No more than a melted dream, the sun dissipated. The light went out.

She wept for us all beneath the nothing moon, an angel cried in the night. But, for what?

The Final Statement

When the universe exploded, I was sad. I’d hoped for so much more than the deflated cloud of vermillion like so much spreading blood. There was no catastrophic bang, no grand finale, no last hurrah, in fact, barely a whimper. You’d have thought after all the effort in growing it, all the struggles both physical and metaphysical, there might have been some massive, last statement. But there wasn’t. What a pity. What a waste. I took my finger off the button.

The End

I’m dying by dissection
The shards that were my face
I’m living a disaster
Bereft of heaven’s grace

I’m dying by desertion
Just fractions at a time
I’m losing my perspective
This world was never mine

I’m dying by distraction
Uncertainty is me
I’m looking to the future
Dear, God, please let me be

I’m dying in the daylight
The moon a distant friend
And constantly I wonder
If soon will come the end

Dancing Into Forever

Kicking up stardust,
We dance beneath the moon.
The world crumbles around us
In endless agony,
As we twirl
With glee unbridled;
We shall not go easily.
Vaporous remnants of ocean
Spin in a vortex of mist,
As the chasms creak,
Rifts widen.
This is the end,
But we don’t care.
The last of the last,
We rejoice in the dance:
Till our atoms disassemble,
Till our last memories fall,
Into forever,
And beyond.