Not so big and not so loud

The day is December 21st of the year 2012 and the world is ending. Slowly.

The fact that it is ending is a surprise to most, and the fact that it does so gradually is a surprise to everyone. Contrary to the predictions of Hollywood and higher percentage of the population, there are no explosions. No thunderous roar or earth-shaking rumbles, the cities aren't crumbling and the crimson blood of a million slaughtered humans does not stain the streets. There are no smothering clouds of smoke or flames tearing through the countries. To the disappointment of all Call of Duty players there are no flesh-seeking zombies or machine gun wielding rioters, and there are no eruptions, storms or apocalyptic diseases let loose in the atmosphere. There is only stillness, the sea is calm and the wind has dropped. The sun has fizzled out, and the moon has slipped from its orbit and drifts away in its own silvery haze. Every physical and spiritual law that was created to define humanities view of its world has been warped and thrown aside. However, the sky is smeared with brilliant streaks of gold and scarlet, violet and dusting's of white fog and in every space between there's the blackest, most ravenous darkness, and the last remaining stars burn brighter than they ever have before-blindingly so.

It is beautiful enough to forgive the situation.

All that is left is the immense awareness of time and space delicately collapsing, and it is a subtle feeling to feel but one that cannot go unnoticed all the same, like the sensation of sand slipping between fingertips or a piece of thread you have twisted tightly around your thumb being gently unravelled again. It is a feeling with all the finality and grace of a summer evening sundown, and none of the violent terror that pop-culture filed this moment under. So, there is not a speck of chaos, the Human race has simply...dropped everything, and settled down together to wait.

They cannot hope for a tomorrow, or a chance the finish all they started. All they can do is watch the glow of the torn sky above them, hands entwined with those of a stranger. They can't understand why it has to be this day, when they had so much to get on with. All they can know is that they won't, not ever, be completely gone. That the memory of them and all that went before and all that ever was will remain as a whisper amongst whatever life happens next. Because there will be something next, they're certain of that too, something not so different but unlike anything before, something raw and complex and startling and so beautifully alive, something that will never know it wasn't the first and most certainly won't be the last. So, the people watch everything come apart at the seams, and they're smiling because they lived and that will always count, and they're not afraid because this is too quiet and soft to feel anything more than a beginning.

And so it all fades away.

But no need to worry.



Not long to wait before it all starts anew, after all.