No ending to this one

The day after my brother was publically executed I went to the quartermaster’s to grab colony-mandated grieving food. I didn’t know what to get. A half-kilo of chocolate, maybe a couple of cans of fermentine. Something, anything to remind me that I was human again. When I walked into the view of the Quartermaster’s I noticed the two guards out front stiffen as I approached. One of them walked forward and began playing back his recording: “Hold, citizen. As a person in Neutral Standing with the Colony Administration, you are not allowed to enter the Quartermaster’s. Please return to your home to await your weekly ration delivery”. I was dumbfounded. “Neutral Standing? I haven’t done anything wrong!” The guard quickly scanned through my history in his visor as the other stood back and tightened their grip on their rifle. “By the recommendation of Colony Administration Judiciary Threat Analysis, you have been placed on Neutral Standing for the next six months, possibly up to eighteen depending on your actions and movements.” I groaned. Of course the CA would think that I was related to any of the nonsense that my brother was up to. But I still wanted some chocolate. “Isn’t there some kind of provision that allows me to get some extra rations? I am in grieving, after all.” The one in the back motioned for my guard to return to him, and the two began to speak in encrypted tones. Neither of them took their eye off me. Finally, the one in back moved forward, and began to speak without the aid of his recordings: “We have been authorized to allow you two kilograms of luxury goods. I’ll accompany you inside.” I rolled my eyes, but inside I was glad that at least I could have this much freedom. I hurried into the quartermaster’s.

End of Reality

The day was as nondescript as any had been, or could be. At this point, there wasn’t much Halla could do but watch out the window of her office in the skyscrapers above. The outside world was nothing but a cacophony of angry industrial noise, which brought back memories of the endless birch forests to Halla. Nothing was urgent, not even life or death. Everything would take its time as she stalked between the thousand-strong lines of trees. It was a far cry from the assembly of gods, its angry fights and screams and roars like a pair of bears fighting over territory. The great meeting gong sounded in the distance. There would be time enough for reminiscing later.

Halla shed her human form as she walked into the Great Amphitheatre, becoming much like the bows her handmaidens carried. It felt good to re-assume her true self, to embrace the warrior’s lust and sensual hunt that flowed through her veins like so much blood. Dozens of gods piled into their seats: floating down from the heavens, tunneling up through the ground, or simply appearing as though they had always been there. This, however, did not change the tense air in the Amphitheatre. Fearful whispers murmured through the crowd. This was no ordinary meeting; no shouting match would be had today by two rival gods, no sleepy recitation of changes to the universe, no cheering after a newly written hymnal was placed into the divine songbook. This was no ordinary meeting because the Destroyer stood at the grand podium.

The Destroyer simply looked at his creations with pity. He didn’t want to say this. He didn’t even want to be here. No one did. So when the last god finally hustled into their seat, the Destroyer raised his hand to silence them all. “Children,” He began, “It has been one thousand years since the Creator left this assembly for parts unknown.” Silence. “One thousand years have hewn this world into pieces, unable to be restored, rebirthed, or replenished. Yet in recent days, we have found the Creator.” A great cheer lept into the air, but the Destroyer was solemn enough to yank it from the skies. “The creator has been found, because she is dead. She had gone mortal.” The cheer turned into quiet whispers of fear and isolated weeping. The Destroyer stood. “It is with

great pain that we must perform our final task. We must sing the Song of Suicide.”

With this, the pain of over a thousand years of uncertainty sprang out of the hundreds of gods in attendance. How could you have let this happen? Where was the Creator? Why would we sing such a song? Were you her killer? The Destroyer was silent. He had hundreds of years to process the two losses of his sister, but the gods only had moments to process the loss of their mother, their creations, themselves.

“Dad, do we have any more cookies?”, the red-haired girl asked. “Not that I’m aware. Why don’t you check the meeting room while I talk to Erin?”, her doting stepfather said. Neither of us had anything important to talk about, but my last evaluation recommended that I talk to my boss more often for guidance on projects, so we sat and chatted. Hunting season would begin in a week, and the entire office would be shut down in reverence of the goddess Halla, our employer. I looked forward to pulling out my old 16-gauge again. Suddenly, the almighty trumpet sounded. Everything immediately stopped to heed the words of the gods. A divine proclamation would be given.

The entity on the television screen caused me and my boss to blanche in terror. The Destroyer. His eyes were red with tears, marks down both cheeks, and His lip trembled. Gods didn’t cry. Gods rarely showed any emotion beyond a knowing smile or a stern glower. Time stood still while He stuttered and choked. “My subjects, my children, my warriors and devotees… It is the end,” he finally said. The god’s tears fell anew. “My dear sister, the Creator, has been found dead, delivered to my oblivion by a soul guide. She… she gave up her immortality for the love of another mortal, and now this universe stands to end.” Keening wails and weeping could be heard throughout the office building. The red-haired stepdaughter stood in the doorway, an armful of cookies littering the floor around her. “The Song of Suicide has been sung. You all have until the end of the hour to say your goodbyes. I bid you farewell,” the Destroyer ended.

Dozens of screens, monitors, radios, and phones around us simply fell apart or faded into dust, no longer able to handle the sheer force of divinity that had coursed through them. A window crashed, and then a half-dozen more, their jagged embraces unable to comfort the grieving workers. “Dad, I’m scared,” the red-headed girl said. “I’m scared too, pumpkin,” my boss said back, unable to process any emotion running through him. In a daze, he walked out of the office with his stepdaughter in hand. I sat there for a few more seconds before taking my leave too. I had plants to water at home, not that it mattered much anymore.

The transmission to the world ended. The Destroyer stood up and replaced his tearful mask with a mask of annoyance. Nothing in this world could be annihilated without his direct intervention. Tens of billions of souls, every song and law and edict written into the very pillars of the universe, trillions upon quadrillions of little things and massive ideas to be processed and passed into oblivion. And after everything was done, only he would remain. He’d be alone for a very, very long time. He cracked his knuckles, then destroyed the very concept of cracking knuckles. The Destroyer didn’t feel fear, not anymore, but the thought of having to spend so many eternities alone again gave him a stomachache.

It was about twenty minutes or so to the end of the hour. Unlike the dozen other apocalypses I had lived through in my thirty-or-so years life, there wasn’t any screaming or panicking stampedes or weeping calls to loved ones in the streets. At least, not anymore. The sky had become overcast as a god passed through it, dazed and confused. Nothing really mattered anymore. I walked into a corner store, grabbed a hot cinnamon bun, and walked out, ignoring the display of grey matter that a cashier decided to decorate the alcohol fridge with. I waved to a soul-guide friend who ignored the thousands of souls piling up in various soul-catchers around him. I pet a dog whose owner seemed to have abandoned it in the middle of the street to peruse a local woodchipper. I looked up and saw that it was getting dark, and very cold. The sun had broken down and fallen out of the sky.

Halla stared at the skies, or what was left of them. The grand void beyond the firmament yawned with sleepy victory at her. She tried to get one shot of the bow earlier, one last stab into the heart of a great stag as its soul bled into a cup. It was too late. Knives no longer worked, and the very idea of stringing a bow became utterly impossible, as none of the mechanics that made it work existed. It had seemed far too sudden. Just how long had the Destroyer held this secret from the assembly? Mere moments prior, a handmaiden simply faded into ash as she walked alongside her mistress, nearly causing the entire city block to collapse from Halla’s shock. Halla shook her head. It was odd. All of the fear and anxiety and sorrow she felt had gone. There was nothing to think about, or regret. After all, stags had never existed. Halla had never existed, either.

I reached my apartment as the snow began to fall in earnest. Most types of complex machinery had broken by now, including my doorknob. I would have broken the window, but I simply fell through the wall without stopping. My 16-gauge sat in a corner. I walked past it without another thought. Running water had stopped working, too, meaning I had to scoop out toilet water to water the empty pots of plants with. Emergency lights turned on throughout the building, but most of them flickered and died within seconds. A couple shone on the outside world. I looked outside my bedroom window and watched the snow as it slowed to a float, then to a still image of flakes. A few people decided now was the time to play a ball game of some kind. Dressed as warmly as possible, I watched them hoot and holler as they attempted to force the ball to move in predictable ways. I merely hugged my teddy bear. I was scared, so scared, but yet I could feel nothing but peace in those last snowy moments before the world ended.