The End

They're saying the world is going to end this weekend. There was a time when that kind of news made me nervous, but I've lived through several of these predictions now, and have finally accepted that humans have been predicting the end of the world since before we could even call ourselves humans. There have always been and will always be people on the corner with sandwich-board signs saying "The End is Near" and late night evangelists reading from Revelations. And they have always been wrong. So I smile to myself as I drive down the deserted highway home.

It's a beautiful February day with a clear blue sky and a brisk breeze. I know that most people have rushed home to cling to their families in fear, so I'm taking my time and enjoying the complete lack of traffic. I was planning to go home this weekend anyway to visit my parents since I didn't have anything else going on, and it has been several weeks since I last saw them. It isn't a visit of desperation like so many others are currently having. It's just like any other visit, except less stressful, because all the idiots have burrowed themselves into tunnels. It's nice. I don't even listen to the radio this time because there is no need. I don't need any distractions from other drivers because there are no other cars around for miles, and I'm enjoying the wide, luxurious silence as my car glides over hills and turns.

It's dark by the time I roll into town, the sleepy little barely-a-city where I grew up. On my three hour journey I've only met one other vehicle, and what a coincidence, it was someone I knew! An old friend, who smiled and waved in recognition before continuing on her way, clearly also enjoying the rare beauty of such an empty world. As I pass through the business district, I notice that all the lights are off in every store and restaurant and every business sign is dark. I have never seen the boulevard so dark, but this, too, makes me smile. Undoubtedly, come Monday, when the world has yet again failed to end, the lights will flicker back on as everyone sheepishly returns to work and pretends that they aren't as gullible as they really are. In the meantime, I'm sure the environment appreciates at least one eco-friendly night with power switched off, fewer cars on the road, less pollution and waste, if only for a couple of hours.

Only a few lights shine out across town from homes and places of worship, where the faithful and afraid have gathered to ask for mercy. My own church is one of the handful hosting a service tonight. I decide to stop in, not to attend, but to use the restroom, which will be cleaner and more comfortable than a gas station. I hurry in and out, not wanting to be stopped and caught up in conversation, but there are only about a dozen people here, and even the handful that I recognize seem particularly short on words tonight.

By the time I get home, my parents are already in bed, so I let myself in quietly and settle in for the night in my old room; I'll greet them in the morning.

But I must have been more tired than I realize, because I sleep later than I intend to.  Although my parents are both retired, they are still early risers and I expect they have gone on about their normal daily routines. I head to the new science museum where my dad has been volunteering. It's just down the road and I haven't seen it since it opened.

Today is significantly warmer than yesterday, and far warmer than you would normally expect for February, but with global climate change, it's hardly worth remarking on anymore. The evidence of climate change is thick here though, where much of the vegetation has withered under extended drought conditions and the gravel roads have somehow turned to sand.

I arrive at the museum and can am not surprised to find absolutely zero patrons.  Even without the hype about the end of the world, I imagine that this museum doesn't see much traffic, having been unfortunately built in a part of the country that has largely abandoned science. Mom greets me in the gift shop with a tight hug and a smile that lights up her whole face. The girl working in the gift shop explains that she's radioed to Dad that I'm here and he'll be down in a minute. Normally he would need to wait until the end of a tour to leave, but there is no one here today, so it doesn't matter.

While we wait for Dad, Mom and I catch up. We laugh about how out of control the doomsday predictions have gotten, surpassing the old days when only scattered sects would hole up. We decide it probably has something to do with the so-called echo chamber that social media has become.  We laugh about the biggest doomsday failures in recent history, the Mayan Calendar in 2012 and the Y2K panic before that. But here is Dad! He envelopes me in his strong arms and kisses my cheek.  Let's all go back to the house, he suggests, there won't be any visitors to the museum today anyway. He'll give me the full tour later on.

So we wave goodbye to the girl in the gift shop and begin the walk home. It's really heating up today, and the sand has gotten rather hot on our feet. I skip ahead of my parents from shade patch to shade patch and we briefly pause while I share my water bottle with Mom. As she takes a drink, I look up at the clear blue sky. There isn't a cloud anyway, from horizon to horizon, and the sun beats down ferociously.  I feel like it looks... angry? I make an off-hand comment to this effect, and my parents glance skyward before agreeing with me, and we continue our walk home.

As we get almost to the door there is suddenly a flash, so bright that normal daylight seems dark by comparison, and we instinctively lunge through the door.  In that split second my mind leaps to the wildest places. I first wonder if we can go back and start over, before realizing that's impossible. I quickly despair that humanity never had the chance to spread beyond our planet in any real way. Everything we had ever done or made or been was about the be erased without the slightest shred of evidence as the sun exploded and incinerated our entire planet. It was not just my own future lost, it was everyone's future, and everyone's past. My parents and I held each other close, as we had a million times before, and yet like never before, and never again, and waited for the end.