End of the World and all that

It came on slowly, he could give it that much. Watching from his front porch as the sky turned a sickening shade of green, the sea churning, the wind howling. He could see the sun above, swollen red and angry, seeming now twice its size. In reality he wasn’t quite sure what it was doing, but doubtless it was some precursor to something bad.

He read from the book in his lap, waiting for the next sign of the apocalypse. It would come in its own good time, and he wasn’t about to go running around trying to stop it. That was left to younger, less-resigned individuals. From the looks of things, they weren’t doing a good job, either.

So when the young man came staggering up the driveway, bleeding profusely and mumbling something like “You’re the only one who can stop it,” the old man frowned and went inside to fetch some bandages. Fate was a right bastard. Couldn’t even send the boy on his way like those door-to-door preachers on account of all the blood. And he’d been so close to finishing his book, too.

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