The Day Before The World Ended

“It was for the best, so Nature had no choice but to do it.”

The stars felt different tonight. They seemed to be humming with something… anticipation? It was a warm night in the middle of June, too warm to be inside. Two women sat on their front porch, staring at the sky. 

The news buzzed on the television inside, something was about to happen. Something big. The president had addressed the nation earlier on an hour-long broadcast, he spoke into existence what everyone had feared for months… he confirmed that the world was going to end. 

All any station wanted to talk about was how it would happen.  

The day before the world ended, the two women dragged the green canoe out from under their back porch. They took turns pulling out the cobwebs and dead leaves that had been trapped inside, dust sprinkling the curly hair of the taller of the pair as they both worked to dislodge the old green vessel. Together, they kicked mud and rocks out of the way with their clunky boots, their tiny black and white dog jumping and weaving between their ankles as they dragged the boat down the slope that supported their tiny yellow house.

No one was sure exactly how it would happen. The scientists had started to refer to it as hibernation; “like going into the deepest sleep you’ve ever experienced.”

It might be like that if they were lucky. 

The day before the world ended they packed two bags, one full of the sweet orange candies that they both loved so much, the bright orange cellophane crinkling in the crush of bottles and granola bars. The other bag, far more practical, full of underwear, two shirts, two pairs of shoes.  

“I don’t think we’ll need to change.”

“Scientists can be wrong, you know.”

They could be wrong. 

“Alright.” 

If everything went well, they estimated that they would get the canoe in the water before noon. 

If everything went well they would have the tent set up before sundown. 

They had planned this months ago. Once the scientists and the higher-ups started to talk about “hibernation.” No one panicked at first, most people treated it as something avoidable, something fun, exciting. The Today Show aired a special and hosted a panel to chat about End Of The World Extravaganza parties.

“People love to throw parties”  

“It’s disgusting.”  

They both agreed that going camping one last time would be nice. 

  The small canoe was light enough to balance between the two of them if they both worked at it. The journey was short by most standards and the smooth exterior of the boat was comforting to rest against. Their tiny dog pranced in front of them, looking back every once in a while to make sure the pair and their canoe were still behind him. The two took turns calling him when he strayed too far away. Besides the whistling for the tiny dog, the walk was overwhelmingly silent, a small parade of two people led by a tiny dog, his collar glinting in the sun, celebrating their impending doom.

As soon as they arrived at the bank of the river, the tiny dog splashed into the water along with the canoe. He bent his head and lapped at the water, searching for fish to torment. His dainty paws kicked up the smooth pebbles resting in the water.

The water was silent. A reflecting pool.

“Maybe the fish are hiding.” 

“Maybe.” 

Nervous twirling of curly hair marked the latter response as unsteady. 

With the canoe floating in the water, the two took turns steadying the rocking of the vessel before settling, the taller of the pair in front, looking back to make sure the other was safely settled before beginning to paddle. The tiny dog resting in the space between them.

The rhythm of paddling the canoe was so easy to settle into that it was easy to forget about the end of the world. No amount of death, destruction, or complete darkness could distract from the careful skim of the paddle on the smooth, clear surface of the water. After a while, the taller of the two paused, running a hand through the mop of curly hair that was growing in the humidity of the day, the silence of the water and the deafening quiet of the woods becoming sharp and grating.

“Where the hell are the birds? I can’t take this anymore.”

They began to dig through their gear, a small radio was dislodged from the bottom of a backpack. Clicking through stations revealed that the only viable option was an 80s throwback channel. 

They took turns shouting the lyrics to “Come on Eileen.” The tiny dog running from one end of the boat to the other, almost on beat.

They had decided to paddle until their arms got tired, they had also decided that camping regulations meant nothing. 

“I bet all the rangers have gone home.” 

They chose to stop beside a small clearing of trees. 

The soft give of the river bank made it difficult for the two to drag the canoe out of the water, but the tiny dog lept up the hill, barking at them once he reached the top. The mud seemed to want to drag the smooth-bottomed boat back down into the river. After a fair amount of struggling, it came to rest in a clearing on a bed of pine needles. 

“This seems as good a place as any.” 

“Seems alright to me.” 

The taller of the two scraped the curly hair out from in front of her face, then the pair set to pulling the red tent out of the bottom of the canoe. Treating it with the most reverence a beat-up old tent had probably ever experienced.

That old tent had been with them through a lot of things, had seen a lot of states and countries, and now, the end of the world.

Not many tents get to see the end of the world.

As soon as the tent was up, the flap unzipped, the tiny dog ran in and back out again, his bark ringing into the woods, dividing the silence left by the lack of birds. 

The pair stood close, fingers intertwined, cutting off blood flow.

“What the hell do we do now?”

“I think we have an excuse to drink.”

The taller of the pair pulled the cork from a bottle of wine.   

  The day before the world ended, two women sat across from each other, separated by a dying fire. Every once in a while, an ember floated into the space between them. The tiny dog made it his mission to growl at every spark. Intermittently, one of the two would take a deep sip of blood-red wine, laughing at the distortion cast onto the other’s face as they looked at the world through glass.  

The day before the world ended, two women listened to their tiny radio play 80s hits. The station played “Come on Eileen” six more times.

“Who the hell keeps requesting that?”

“I think we’re the only ones listening at this point.”

“Us and the D.J.”

The day before the world ended, two women in the middle of the woods promised not to cry and promptly broke that promise when they looked at one another. 

The day before the world ended, two people went to sleep in their beat-up old tent in the middle of the woods. The tent, one they had taken to Yosemite, The Grand Canyon, The Redwood Forest, stood alone, a final resting place. 

The day before the world ended, two women in the middle of the woods, alone except for their tiny dog, talked into what would be their last night. 

With the tent flap unzipped, the two women gazed at the sky before falling asleep. The stars seemed familiar now, bright and sure.