Last Day on Earth - Story I wrote last summer
You live inside this cup. If I finish my drink, for the next hour of this drab party, I will be whole. For you will be inside me, and you are my world.
That is until you vomit out every last bit of liquid inside you at ripe dawn, looking down at remnants of your past lovers laid down in chunks, like a libation gone wrong. Black coffee with a spoonful of cinnamon stirred 5 times counterclockwise is supposed to undo bad nights, but these rituals are feeling more and more like habit and therefore more and more profane.Â
The Flat Earth Society meeting is in a couple of hours, but you think youâll skip it. Today the Earth feels round, like everything you know could slip into a terrifying perpetuity. The hangover blues⊠last night sure does come back to bite you in the ass.
You decide to go to the Lake, the Lake will cure you, you think. You call in sick; the mattress store has been busy the past few weeks and you need a day off from your sleazy boss breathing down your neck, something about poor salesmanship and the importance of âcasual conversationâ with customers.
The walk to the bus stop is sparse and boring. You understand the world to be divided up into specific zones, and right now, youâre walking along what you call âThe Wastesâ, a landscape invaded with miles of noxious grass that has choked out any chance for something else to grow. It leaves a bad, sinister taste in your mouth but maybe thatâs just the hangover. Sun-bleached pavement warms your feet through the thin soles of your rubber shoes, and the clement and clean air makes no impression on you.
You think of a film that ex #3 showed you, about a girl determined to remain a vagabond until her ultimate death. You always knew that she, that is ex #3, was beyond you; she was smart and willful and pompous in a way that you initially found enticing, but you quickly realized you lacked the enduring interest to keep seeing her. Anyway, you try to identify with the vagabond, but thereâs nothing admirable or interesting about your walk to the bus. No money, no cellphone, you look so down on your luck that you hope the bus driver accepts you out of pure heart. And he does; he must subscribe to Universal Love, you think.
The Lake is edenic. Its surrounding vegetation looks like it was coloured with fluorescent glitter crayons and the water itself is teeming with prosperous life, despite there being very little of it left on Earth. Youâve always told yourself that the Lake is the bellybutton of the universe; a sign of birth and creation, a great chain of progeny that gives the world a certain order and confidence you crave. You imagine it filled with holy algae water that you could bathe in, surely then youâd stay clean. Youâre naggingly dehydrated and wish you could drink the Lake up, but then of course, youâd be draining the planet of its life essence, so youâve told yourself.
The Lakeâs serenity invites contemplation and today the question that circulates your mind is: âIs there really such a thing as a point of no return?âÂ
But this is soon interrupted by a piercing sensation on your shoulder. You turn around and there she stands, with red eyes whose gaze seems to hit the back of your skull.Â
She introduces herself as the Puppet Princess of Primordial Soup and apologizes for startling you. Her mouth moves but you get the sense that she is communicating to you by other, non-corporeal means. She invites you to play a game of tag. Her resting smirk is hard to resist, it reminds you of impish ex #1 who used to tease that âyou can look but cannot touchâ. Sure, why the hell not. You begin chasing PPP (as youâve so cleverly dubbed her in your head) in circles around the lake, your fingertips just grazing the tips of her white-blue hair. She appears to be made of ice but not at all stiff in her motions. You both run faster and faster until the Lake seems to spiral downwards away from you and you are no longer on solid ground.
As you catch your breath amidst the airglow of the stratosphere, PPP explains to you that she was appointed to rescue lost souls who have run out of Good Days on Earth. You didnât know you needed rescuing but it feels good to surrender to something bigger than yourself. You see the Earth in its spheric totality with a fat red ribbon tied around it like a gift. Your heart swells and your eyes fill with tears at its magnificence. This is all happening so fast. You can see the convention centre way down beneath you, the guys at the Flat Earth society must be starting their meeting right about now. You wish you could tell them that they can stop speculating⊠the Answer has arrived.
You also wish you could have said a proper goodbye. I mean, they were your buddies after all, and you have a feeling that camaraderie doesnât exist the same way where youâre going⊠But it doesnât really matter anymore, PPP assures you. Nothing really does⊠those girls, those parties, your jerk of a boss, your CD collection â it was nothing other than to mark the passing of time. Â
During your ascent, vignettes of seemingly random memories replay in your mind as if you were channel surfing. The neighbourâs dog yelling at you through the wire fence, always angry at everything and equally nothing. The kids who sold used kitchenware up and down the block. Lyrics to Neil Youngâs âAlbuquerqueâ. Riding around on dirt bikes with ex #2 who was just superb and the person you probably loved the most in this life... The night you fought and she jumped out of your moving car, back when you could afford one. The day she buzzed your hair and nipped your ear, and the scab that lasted all summer.Â
But you feel no nostalgia or remorse at these memories; youâre no longer a part of this world.
Look! Thereâs mom and dad in suburban bliss! You havenât spoken to each other in years but you wish you could tell them that everything worked out, they need not worry any longer. You try to wave from up above but realize you have no arms â actually, no form at all. Itâs then that you see your supine body on the grass by the Lake like a raisin, all dehydrated and contorted. Good fucking riddance.