This month’s prompt word for #blogbattle is eschaton, which I admit I had to look up. This is a definition
the final event in the divine plan; the end of the world.
The End, But Not As We Imagine It
‘So, peeps, this is it. The Finale. The Last Curtain. The End of Ends…’
Ray Ning-Supreme yawned and hoped no one saw. As with all the other guests, he’d saved enough for this final mother of a blowout and he knew he shouldn’t be anything other than as excited as Mine Host, the oleaginous peacock of a presenter, Sparkle Tripleply. That non-gendered excuse for a human should have been sent ahead to enjoy whatever was coming, rather than the rest of the world having to suffer his incontinent babbling.
Ray looked at the enormous clock that had been beamed onto the moon’s face. Twelve more minutes…
‘What do you think will happen, Ray?’
Zit Wideboy, Ray’s gopher leant over his shoulder. Why he had agreed to let the unctuous piece of toad crap join in would remain a mystery for the rest of…. eleven minutes and forty-one seconds.
‘Did you bet on it, Zit?’ Ray wondered if the boy was really as stupid as he made out.
‘Yes! Seven to two it’s the sun exploding. Kind of like going full circle. The Big Dog starts off with the sun so it would be poetic if that’s how it ended.’
Ray squeezed his eyes shut. It could only be the madness brought on by the end of the world, the end of everything that one as congenitally dull as Zit would find poetry in oblivion. ‘How will you collect?’
‘Oh the bookie said he’d cancel all the bets if there was no end.’
‘That doesn’t…’ Ray stopped. Nine minutes to eschaton and he really didn’t need to be indulging a philosophical discussion on the cretinous betting practices of Zit. He’d thought a lot about what he’d do at the very end. Pretty much everyone had indulged in that speculation. Eat the ultimate truffle pasta, climax with whatever mammal you preferred, finish War and Peace… one contributor indicated they’d be flossing at the end, just in case there was a hereafter and she kept her teeth. For his part, he thought one final single malt, but now it was… he looked up – Seven minutes away – even that didn’t seem to be enough to cap a life, even if well lived, then not as long as he had hoped.
Zit had taken the seat on Ray’s left. His spouse had disappeared, presumably to change her outfit. That was always going to be Cilla’s dilemma: what to wear at the very end. ‘Somehow it seems necessary to make a show of it,’ she’d said after the science community had confirmed that, indeed, the messages everyone had received from the self proclaimed ‘GodDude’ were consistent with the biblical timeline that placed 17th February as the last day of everything.
Zit was wittering. Ray couldn’t really blame him. He’d been promised a raise come April and it didn’t looked likely he’d collect. But if Zit wittering was understandable, Ray wasn’t going listen. Oh no, no more Mr Polite Guy.
He stood, dropped his napkin on his dessert plate – no point complaining the waiting staff hadn’t cleared away, given the circs – picked up his tumbler of scotch and headed for the railing to stare out of the time bubble across the abyss. The moon clock sat above the edge of the bubble. One other person, a man of indeterminate years wearing a leprechaun outfit leant against the railings. He glanced at Ray and lifted his own glass. ‘sláinte.’ Ray nodded and turned his gaze to the future.
It wasn’t really surprising that few of the punters wanted to take advantage of the clever piece of technology that allowed them to see into the very near future, when it was confidently predicted that future would contain absolutely nothing. But Ray had a hankering to see how it was going to end. He was prepared to risk the spoiler and the disappointment. He may even have time to find Zit and tell him if he’d won or lost his bet.
Ray let his eyes adjust. The clock said two minutes and the time bubble gave you two minutes of prior notice. He was conscious his companion was focused on the skin of the bubble too.
As they watched, the impenetrable blackness of the sky began to fill with a cavernous opening, some sort of ridged black hole, only this one was evidentially brown. It had a sort of superficial familiarity to it which Ray couldn’t quite place… He became conscious that his companion was laughing; silently and impassively but the shaking shoulders and tears definitely connoted laughter.
He turned to Ray. ‘Do you see? Do you get it?’
Ray shook his head.
The leprechaun held his sides. ‘It’s a giant anus and… Yes!’
Ray looked back at the bubble. It was all now clear. He turned back to the room. With less than a minute to go, couples were copulating, consuming and crying but none were laughing. None apart from his Irish colleague got the joke.
A green arm snaked round Ray’s shoulders. ‘It proves one thing,’ the man said. ‘God has to be a Catholic. Geez which other Supreme Being would tell you how everything would end and no one work it out.’
Ray nodded and looked at the huge sign over the dance floor.
That is exactly what was about to happen and history, if there was any, would record we were warned. When asked how did it all end, there it was….
E shat on bloody everything.