The world did not end as I hoped it would.
I waited the whole of Saturday in my apartment. Put on my best Jay Kos suit, packed a suitcase with my tooth-brush & deodorant and a spare set of clothes (pyjamas included).
Then I waited.
I read my Time magazine, then prepared what I would say when the end finally came.
I waited as the shadows shifted across the living room floor and the weekend noises drifted up to me from the street below. Kids in the park, muted music from a car, voices, laughter. Birds. Traffic.
At a stage, I felt my self going, things becoming blurry, grey and hazy. I saw my mother, half undressed in a slip and dressing gown. She would not look at me. I saw the Eiffel Tower bend in the middle, as if picking up stragglers from the ground. Vast oceans of stars and moons, all reflecting across the sky. I saw tall buildings lift from their foundations and move to the edge of the universe. And I saw yellow fields of wheat, waving in the wind. A man came towards me through the wheat fields, smiling. He was walking on a railway track. Behind him I could see an old locomotive approaching at speed. The man seemed not to notice, or if he did, he did not care.
I hear him call me. It was my mother’s voice.
Perhaps I was left behind.