My mother called. “You should have come to the vigil,” she said, voice faintly accusing.

“Why? You saved the world without me,” I said, and hung up.

On the news, scientists tried to explain the flaws in their calculations; preachers claimed God had saved us in our hour of need; freaks and charlatans seized their fifteen minutes of airtime, all propounding outlandish theories.

I watched numbly, feeling hollow and thin with disappointment. I had made my peace. I had been ready. I had settled my accounts and cast off this life, prepared for the next.

And I was still here.


No one knew.

Days passed. The news showed me rioting, told me of cults forming, relayed stories of shattered people struggling to cope with uncertainty and confusion. As I watched, I realized the truth.

The world had ended. We just didn’t notice.

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