The end of the world is coming and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. It’s irreversible. And much like the virus, the experience almost doesn’t seem real. It’s like watching a horror movie and waiting to see how the ending will resolve itself, all the time knowing that the movie is reality and the only resolution is the absolute end of everything.

We watch a live map of the world, waiting. Knowing that the end is coming. Knowing that we can’t stop it. We can only watch and wait. But there’s an expert with us, and he can tell us when it’s all about to be over. There’s a level of comfort in that, somewhere.

For a while there’s nothing. Then, an explosion. Beirut. It’s big enough that it can be seen from space. Live cameras in the city show the massive blast move outward from its epicenter with a speed and intensity that does not seem survivable.

Is it nuclear?
No. Not this one. The expert assures us that this is not the end.

Smoke fills the live camera views. Some cameras go offline. A shot from the ISS shows the explosion’s cloud breach the earth’s lower atmosphere and billow above it.

Another explosion. It is somewhere in France, but we can’t see the exact location because of all the smoke on the map.

Is this one nuclear?
No. Not this one, either. But the next one will be.

So we wait. Excited dread. Fearful hope that it will be quick and as painless as possible.

We wait.
We wait.
Then it happens.

A third explosion, big enough that it blots out the entire world map. All live cameras go black. The map shudders and goes blank.

This is it, the expert says.
This is it.

It’s like a dream. It can’t be real. This is something that would happen in a TV show or a book or a movie. Not real life. It can’t be real.

How long until we die? No one knows. No one is here to tell us anymore. The expert is suddenly gone.

I want my mom. I need to talk to my mom. I want her to be the last person I talk to. Somehow, by some miracle, I am able to message her over Skype.

Are you there?
Yes.
Are you scared?
Yes.
Me too.
I love you.
I love you, too.

I feel the wind, even though I’m in the house. It stings as if it’s filled with tiny needles. My body hurts. My lungs hurt. Then the walls of the house are gone.

Are you still there?
Yes.
I love you.
I love you, too.

The atmosphere feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. There is a terrible crushing feeling as everything starts to flatten. The horizon flattens. All houses that are still standing flatten. My vision is distorted. Everything hurts.

Are you still there?
Yes.
I love you.
I love you, too.

Everything hurts.
Everything hurts.

What could we have changed to prevent this?

Everything hurts.

Where is Nate?
Where is Jazzy?
All the creatures on the planet are dying a horrible, painful death.

Can we try again? We’ll get it right this time.

Are you still there?
Yes.
I love you.
I love you, too.

Everything hurts.

Please, can we try again?

Sound waves stop being able to fluctuate. First there is static, then there is nothing. Everything is too flat for sound.

Then everything is too flat for light.

Am I even alive, or is this what the end of life feels like?
I can’t be the only one. Not yet. Either we’re all dead or none of us are.

I can’t hear. I can’t see. I don’t know if I’m breathing.
I just know that it’s over. There is no more one last try.

Are you still there?
…
Hello?
…
…I love you.