Confessions at the End of the World
It's the end of the world again.
What? The world ends a lot. You just don't notice most of the time.
So. Where was I? Yes. It's the end of the world again (and by 'it's' I mean this slice of time, this place, everything happening here and now – I don't want any creative writing teachers calling me down for that). And it just might be it. The big one. The end of the world that you can't not notice because that's all there is to it.
How do I know? I know, okay. I'm surprised you don't. But, well, it's you. You don't really notice things. You can be marvelously dense sometimes, denser, in fact – and you will have to forgive the physics of this – denser that a black hole. Don't give me that look. You are.
Anyway. The end of the world. No, there's nothing we can do about it. Maybe someone else, somewhere, but not us. Definitely not us. That's not why I'm talking to you. Please stop putting me off track.
Why then? Well.
I should have made speech cards. I'm sorry. Too late for that now.
I'll stop wasting time. There's not much of it left, and there'll be other things you want to do. The final phone calls, kiss Mom goodbye, all that. Right.
There's something you need -– no, that's not right. Something I want you to know. You don't need to do anything about it. Just. It'd kill me if you never knew, ever. And, really, I promise I don't mean to mess with your head or anything, I'm sorry if I do.
I really like you. I hope you don't mind.