[h2]It’s the end. Every news channel is saying so. Through the window, I see a group of young people looting a convenience store. Why are they doing it? Do they want to drink beer and eat chips at the end of the world? I guess at a moment like this, no one wants to face the apocalypse empty-handed. There’s something deeply human about clinging to the ordinary, even as everything collapses around us.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]It looks like it’ll all be over in about thirty minutes. That meteor is on its way to wipe us out. They detected it so late they didn’t even have time to name it. And really, what’s the point of naming it? So it’ll go down in history? There won’t be any history in half an hour. The absurdity of it all makes me chuckle dryly. I suppose this is how it ends—not with a scream, but with a little wine and some jazz.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Luckily, I have a good Malbec from Argentina in the fridge. I’d been saving it for a special occasion, and, as it turns out, the end of the world feels like an appropriate time. I uncork it without any rush and pour myself a glass. My hands don’t even tremble, which surprises me a little. Maybe it’s because, at this moment, there’s nothing left to fear, nothing left to plan or postpone. If I’m going to be extinguished, I want to go out in peace.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]On the news, with their last gasp of hope, they decide to give the meteor a name: [i]New Beginnings.[/i] How ironic. They promise that life will rise again, that the planet will one day see new beings walking on its surface. Maybe they’re right, but I won’t be here to see it. I turn off the TV and put on a jazz record—something soft and melancholic. A trumpet wraps itself around me while chaos continues out there.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]If this were a movie, people would be boarding rockets to live on colonies on Mars, or Bruce Willis would be saving us all by blowing up the meteor at the last second. But this isn’t a movie. Here, there are no heroes, no miraculous rescues. There’s just a meteor, a countdown, and me, with a glass of wine.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The wine is excellent, thankfully—it hasn’t turned. Drinking a good wine is one of the things I’m going to miss when the world ends in twenty minutes. There’s a lot I’ll miss, if it’s even possible to miss anything from the void of extinction. I wonder what it will feel like to disappear. Will there be a split second of clarity right before the end? Or just... nothing?[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]I’ll miss seeing the sunrise while driving down the highway. Those heavenly colors never repeat themselves. I hope the sun keeps rising after the meteor hits, even if there’s no one left to see it.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Another thing I’ll miss is chatting with my mom on Sunday mornings. She always brought pastries, and we’d sit together laughing at the neighbors and the rest of the family. Her laughter lingers in my mind now, echoing across the years. It’s strange how, in moments like this, the simplest, brightest memories rise to the surface. Why didn’t I always live like this, so aware of what mattered?[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Swimming in the sea—there’s no more relaxing sensation than pretending to be a fish. I suppose that if life does rise again on this planet, it’ll start in the ocean, with tiny single-celled creatures, just like last time. If I get to reincarnate, I hope I come back as one of those creatures. At least they don’t have to worry about meteors.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]I’ll also miss music, running through the park, eating with friends, finishing a good book, dipping bread into the yolk of a fried egg, traveling to places where I don’t understand the language, the smell of freshly cut grass, and so many other things I always took for granted but now feel essential. All of it will cease to exist in ten minutes, when the meteor does its thing.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]I keep looking out the window and see the kids who looted the convenience store gorging themselves on chocolates and candy. I guess that’s what they’ll miss. I was never much of a sweet tooth, but there’s something oddly moving about their farewell. Everyone says goodbye in their own way.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]And then, I see her. At the corner. Anna. She’s running toward my building. She stops a few steps from my door and turns to face my window. We lock eyes for one precious second, a second heavier than everything that’s happened in the past few years. There are three minutes left in history. I can reach her. The sky is turning red, and I drop my glass, which shatters on the floor as I rush to the door.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Taking the stairs three at a time, I realize I won’t miss any of those things I thought about over the last half hour. Not the wine, not the sunrise. I’ll miss Anna. I don’t know why I didn’t mention her in my list. I don’t know why we broke up a year ago. I don’t know if I’ll make it to her before the meteor consumes us all.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]I run faster. I can’t risk waiting for the elevator. The last six floors feel endless. But as I burst through the door, I see her. She’s right there, smiling, her round eyes filled with the same warmth that pulled me in the first time we met. She’s running toward me too. She says something, but I can’t hear her over the deafening roar of the apocalypse.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]I throw myself into her arms just as the air around us begins to ignite. [/h2]
