Friday, January 6, 2017

The Morning of the End of the World

The Morning of the End of the World
Bobby Derie

It was the morning of the end of the world. Janine carefully made her bed and washed the dishes after breakfast.

Phil watched her from behind his glass. The television was muted, flashing images of rioting, praying, empty newsrooms at random. No one could blame anyone that left for the day, to do whatever they had to do. 

So Phil drank, and Janine cleaned.

There was a countdown clock, on the screen. Someone had thoughtfully put it up, so that everyone could know the hour and the minute as it crept forward, the world turning toward that hateful sun. The sterilizing light that would wipe out the infection that was life from the world.

Janine swept and mopped the kitchen, wiping down the corners with a rag.

The house grew warmer. Phil could almost feel dawn creeping up behind him. The wind had picked up, audible against the windows. A terrible pressure that he could feel inside his own skull.

Janine came over and pulled the empty bottle from his unresisting fingers, and put it out with the rest of the trash. She kissed him gently on the forehead, and laid his head down in his arms on the table. Without moving, one eye open, he watched her turn to the window and open the blinds, a smile on her face to great the dawn.


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