This is the End of the World Rebecca Patuto
Last night, I had a dream about the end of the world. [14:59] There were too many suns in the sky in my dream. I don’t know how or when the suns arrived. Some scientists are on the television, trying to explain their numerous theories, jargon spilling from their lips. I watch them with weary eyes. I do know two things: I am in a city, and I am alone. (I don’t know what city. I don’t know why I’m alone.) There are people trying to save us, of course. Some of us would actually like to preserve the human race, rather than trying to burn it all down. There are scientists, government officials, philosophers, religious leaders, and more. They all stood outside and pointed and wrote things down on pieces of paper. They each hypothesize, each draw up ideas to save us and begin to enact them. We watch as dozens of plans spring up and are put into action all across the world. One by one, they all fail. [12:17] I don’t really care about the people who are trying to save us, because I am in a city at dusk, there are too many suns crowding the sky, and I am still alone. I wander rain-splattered streets looking for someone who will hold me. I know it is the end of the world. Perhaps that is pessimistic, perhaps I should be looking at this all glass-half-full, but all I need to do is look at the sky, and there is no doubt in my mind. This is the end of the world. An extinction event. The apocalypse. Armageddon. Whatever. I pause by a shop with dozens of televisions all playing the same news channel, feeling like a character in a cheap sci-fi movie. The news anchor is staticky, and his tears roll down his face in flickering silver-white pixels, and he is choking on his own words. I can barely hear what he has to say, but it turns out I don’t need to, not really, because that’s when they put the countdown clock on every screen in the entire world. 69
