Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:
When you think of the end of the world, what do you imagine? When I was younger, much younger, I thought of comets hitting the Earth and shattering it into a billion pieces. Or the sun expanding until it reached the orbit of the Earth and the planet burned up. Blackholes ripping the Earth out of its orbit? Yes, I thought of that as well.
In my teen years, I thought of plagues of vampires, werewolves or aliens coming and taking over the people and the planet. Aliens would come to take our planet, take our women, take our resources. As I grew older my idea of the end of the world revolved around mankind killing itself in so many different ways: man-made viruses, artificially intelligent machines, the creation of a super race.
When I got married and had kids the end of the world revolved around me out living my children or wife. The end of the world focused on me and not what happened to the other six billion people on this fragile rock. The end of the world was a personal end and not necessarily the end to everyone, just the end to me. After all, does it matter what happens to everyone else when you’re dead? I mean, I can worry about it but nothing I can do can change the path that people take after I’m gone.
The end of the world happened. It was an event that affected only me and after it happened the world continued on its merry way, but, for me, I was ripped out of it and forced to be alone. The only person who knew what happened, but couldn’t tell anyone.
‘There’s a fine line between genius and insanity’ is truer than people realize and I don’t know whether I’m straddling the line or fallen in one direction or another for there is no one to listen. So I’m writing this in hopes that someone, somewhere, I guess that would be you, is reading this and experiencing the same feelings as me. I hope you find my story … illuminating.
Let me tell you how the end of my world began.
Post a link to the story in the comments.