Someday the world will end, and we won’t be there for it.
We see the clouds turning to gray in perpetual motion and it’s been days since we’ve laid eyes upon the sun. The oceans raise their waves in angry savagery while rains flood the grounds we trod upon. Our feet are cold and clammy, shoes weighed down with grit and silt. We struggle forward, dragging sleds of rotting food and ill kept belongings.
There is no shelter above the earth. We walk and sleep in rain and wind, clothed in plastic tarps and helmets. To be exposed to the rain is certain death.
How the world has not frozen over is a question we dare not stop to ponder. No power is left in this world other than the pervasive will to survive. We cannot count on anything less. But we will all die, one day, and it will be before the end of the world.
They made the prediction what feels like years ago, that an asteroid was coming, that God was sending his legion of warriors to cleanse the earth of impurity, that global warming would upset the intricate balance of climate and atmosphere that had once nurtured the earth’s vivacious growth and now deters it with a vicious cold.
We stop for what we call night, but it is just a darker dark than when we walk, a brief period of repose without true rest. We struggle on because it’s all we can do, other than succumb to impermeable sleep and starvation. So we walk.