The Final Day Called Exitus Umbra

On the final day, there will be no massive storms or fire, nor brimstone and chunks of meteor streaking down from the heavens to bombard the earth. It will be abrupt and ultimately, painless. Joe Smith, quite literally an “average Joe”, looked down at the chicken scratch writing that had covered the entirety of the once white piece of computer paper.

It was the only place left where his calculations could be solved. The ceiling, floor, walls and numerous whiteboards were covered in an intangible conglomeration of numbers and letters, forming nonsensical formulas.

Each of his theories and hypotheses had been proven to be correct, yet he still lacked one vital piece of information: when the exact date and time the end would occur.

“Honey? Dinner is ready,” called his wife from the top of the basement steps. A small river of light wound its way from the open door.

“Coming honey! No need to come down,” Joe called back frantically as he shoved the paper into the desk drawer which contained his other hundreds of pages of notes. No doubt she would ask why the new stack of printer paper was disappearing so rapidly over a heinously cooked meal.

“How was your day?” Margret, his wife asked as she impaled a piece of meatloaf with her fork and brought it up to her glossy, painted lips.

“Fine, fine,” Joe said hurriedly as he shoved forkfuls of the overly salty meatloaf into his mouth.

“Joe, where are you in such a rush to? It’s a Friday night, what’s the hurry?” Margret asked with a twinge of genuine curiosity.

Joe knew that she would never understand his work. “Oh, nothing. This meatloaf is just so delicious,” he said and feigned a satisfied grin.

“Well, I’m glad you like it. I thought I would do something special for you since you got promoted to Sales Manager.” Margret said cheerfully, the gleam of curiosity had vanished from her eyes.

Joe felt a twinge of panic. I’ll never get back to my work. Why can’t this woman let me be? He thought angrily as he ground the remaining chunk of meatloaf between his teeth.

“You know,” Margret began slowly. “Tonight is exactly one month since got married. Remember?”

“Is it?” Joe scratched his head. Damn. “Of course I remembered darling.”

“How about we have some fun tonight? Just like on our honeymoon. I’ll wear that red one-piece you liked so much,” she cooed.

“I am rather tired tonight. Can I take a rain check?” Joe asked, trying not to let insincerity slip through. “I think I’ll go watch some television.”

With that, Joe hastily made a beeline towards the basement door. As his hand brushed the knob, Margret spoke up.

“What is so important about that damn basement? What is more important than your wife?”

“Margret,” Joe said as he spun around. “We have only been married for three weeks. This project—.” He paused.

“What project? Joe, what is in that basement?” Margret yelled as she got up from the dining room table. The chair behind her skidded back a few feet from the sudden movement.

“Nothing,” Joe said as he flung his arms across the door frame in an attempt to block her.

“Joe, I swear. You better let me see what you’re doing in there or else.”  

“Do you know anything about subatomic particles, gravity or space-time theory?” Joe asked in frustration as he fought off Margret’s repeated attempts to grasp the doorknob.

“No, but why is that important?” she heaved, finally wrapping her hand around the circular knob. She flung the door open, knocking Joe to the side.

The basement was dark and cold. Rows of whiteboards were placed in rows at the center of the space. The scribblings of a madman covered every square inch of the area. Small, incandescent lightbulbs hung from knotted cords that were attached to the ceiling.

Margret stared wide-eyed and mouth agape at the chaos.

“Well, now you know,” Joe said as he closed the basement door behind him.

“Joe, what is all this—this mess? What did you do to our basement?”

“Our basement? No,” he chuckled. “This is my basement.”

“Is this what you’re doing with your spare time? What kind of nonsense is this?” Margret stuttered as her eyes locked with Joe’s.

“This is not nonsense. This is my life’s work. I am calculating the time of the end of the world.”

“The end of the world? Joe, you are not serious,” Margret said with a slight chuckle.

“Do you think this is some kind of joke? I know what will happen and why,” Joe said as he descended the steps. “I have studied Einstein, Newton, Mayan calendars and Christian Book of Revelations. Everything.”

“So, you’re telling me that you are an expert on what, physics?” Margret laughed. “Joe, you’re the Manager of Sales at Target, not physicist.”

“Hell, if I’m not.” He paused to draw in a deep breath. “I have devoted years of my life to this. These notes go back at least ten years!”

“Did your mother know you were wrecking her basement?” Margret snapped and crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Of course she knew. She is the only one who understood my research and let me be. I can figure out the exact time every clock on the earth will stop ticking and every heart stops beating.” Joe paused and forced the anger to escape him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Joe, this is crazy. Why do you waste your time on something that will never happen?” Margret asked she took a step towards Joe. “Why are you so defensive about this?”

“Because,” he let out a sigh. “No one understands the importance of this event. It is the end of the world Margret, not just some meteor shower or solar eclipse. Do you really think my promotion is half as important as this cataclysmic event?”  

Margret sat on the cushioned, high back chair near the base of the stairs. They had meant to put into storage. “Well, I will try and understand if you explain it to me.” She held up her hand as if to recite an oath. “I promise.”

Joe sighed and loosened the collar on his Target-brand manager's shirt that seemed to be stifling his breath then took a seat on the steps. “According to my research and studies, the world will end abruptly in darkness and silence, not ice and fire. I call it, Exitus Umbra: Death’s Shadow.”