The Death of a Universe

The universe was burning.

Stars were decorating the darkness like fireworks on the Fourth of July, folding in on themselves before exploding into massive bursts of energy that torched anything that dared to be in their vicinities.

Meteor showers threatened to steal the spotlight from the assortment of supernovas; the minuscule rocks whistled through the air, their jagged edges threatening to tear tiny wounds into the skies’ skins.

There were bodies floating about, celestial and human alike. Worlds were breaking down, moons squirming out of their orbits, suns engulfing their galaxies more viciously than Kronos swallowing his children whole.

Joaquin felt a shiver go down his spine as he watched all of existence fall apart around him. He had little doubt that his life would, too, be claimed — sooner rather than later, if the state of the universe was anything to go by. Of course, the small space shuttle he was hiding in might have a chance of slipping through the cracks imperceptibly; at least that’s the propaganda his father was spewing to the panicking people that accompanied them on the shuttle.

Joaquin knew better. He knew his father had the blood of a politician and the tongue of a poet, spinning stories to calm people in times of crisis. This time was no different.

That’s not all Joaquin knew. He also knew it was only a matter of time before something a thousand times their shuttle’s size crashed into them and sent them all tumbling through space. at that point, it would be mere seconds — or minutes, for the unlucky ones — before their lungs ruptured, blood vessels turning into firecrackers and bodies twisting and inflating into grotesque balloon-animal versions of themselves.

What Joaquin didn’t know — and even this he would not easily admit — was what happened once the life had been snuffed from their bodies. This unanswerable question, perhaps, was what made people so afraid to die in the first place, despite being born with the knowledge that death is inevitable. We are born to die; there is no sense in fearing death when it is known that it can, and will, come at any given moment.

Joaquin did not fear death. He did not fear his father’s death, or the death of his people, or the death of the human race. He did not even fear the death of the universe, which was taking place before his very eyes.

But death did sadden him. Witnessing, experiencing, knowing that something that was once beautiful and alive no longer had a place in the universe struck a painful chord deep in his soul. It was not easy watching the world change, remembering all those who were eventually forgotten, waiting for the moment when he himself would waste away into nothingness.

It was almost comforting to know that his death’s twin was the death of all of existence. At least he would not be alone in wherever it is we go after life. All the planets, moons, suns, all the beauties and horrors of the universe would be his playmates.

He supposed it was worth it to die if it meant he could hold a star close to his chest when it was all over.

Behind him, people were huddled around, pulling their children close, crying on strangers’ shoulders. Babies were wailing, mourning the lives they never got the chance to live. Joaquin could hear his father’s voice droning on, but he could not hear the words. He had learned to tune those out long ago.

He flinched when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder but he did not turn to see who it belonged to. The light show outside the window was too great to miss, even for a split second. He did not even want to blink for fear of missing the opportunity to watch the universe take its last breath.

“Can I help you?” he questioned, keeping his voice down to not attract the attention of any others.

“Probably not,” a voice replied, releasing a breathless laugh that tickled the back of his neck. “I’d love for you to look at me, though, if it’s possible.”

Joaquin hesitated.

A beat passed;

two;

three.

Finally, he tore his gaze away from the window and turned towards the person who had still not removed their hand from his shoulder. He locked eyes with a red-haired girl; his favorite red-haired girl in all the world.

She smiled and instantly overpowered the billions of stars and meteorites that were blazing trails outside.

Joaquin couldn’t help but smile back. He brought a hand up to meet hers, squeezing it softly.

“You okay?” he asked, perhaps stupidly. Was there even an appropriate answer to that question?

“Yes,” she answered anyway, without a moment of hesitation. Her smile faltered ever so slightly, a hint of sadness turning the corners of her lips down. But still, she did not retract herself.

“It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” Joaquin asked, gesturing at the chaos unfurling just outside the shuttle.

The girl laughed softly and shook her head. “Of course you would find such a thing as death and destruction beautiful.”

Joaquin shrugged. “Death and destruction are sad and hurtful. But it doesn’t mean they can’t also be beautiful.”

She nodded, moving her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. “And if it is inevitable, we should at least try to find the beauty in it. Right?”

“That’s exactly right.”

He dropped his hand to her waist and pulled her in a little closer. She smelled like peppermint and home.

As she opened her mouth to say something, the shuttle suddenly lurched. People of all ages started screaming, giving the wailing babies a run for their money.

Another bang and the shuttle lurched again.

In their panic, some people turned on Joaquin’s father. They called him a liar, condemned him for filling them with false hope. Joaquin didn’t speak up in his defense, though secretly he wondered if his father should be attacked for filling people with false hope when they are the ones foolish enough to allow themselves this feeling in the first place.

Joaquin frowned as he felt the hand on his cheek trembling. “Ana? Are you okay?” he asked, his free hand rising to stroke the girl’s hair gently.

Ana nodded, smile still in place even though the fear danced plainly across her eyes. “I’m okay.” she paused, thinking. Then, quietly, “just… hold me?”

Joaquin pulled her into his arms instantly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Joaquin did not fear death; he never had. He never sought it out, but never tried to actively avoid it either, content to let it claim him whenever it pleased.

But now, with his lover in his arms and the end of all of time and space roaring in his ears, he wished he could persuade death to take a detour on its way to find him.

“I love you,” he whispered as the shuttle split in half.

“I love you too,” Ana whispered back hurriedly. She clung to him as tightly as she could and suddenly they were thrust into open space.

It was just as Joaquin knew; it did not take long at all for his lungs to rupture, for his blood vessels to become firecrackers, for his heart to stop, for his soul to dance away.

But as it happened, his eyes were not trained on the exploding stars, or the flying debris, or the melting planets. He did not watch the death of the universe as he had expected to. 

Instead, his eyes never left Ana’s, gaze not wavering even for a single moment. He watched as her lungs ruptured and her blood vessels turned to firecrackers. He watched as her heart stopped and her soul danced away. He held her close to his chest and watched as she took her last, aborted breath.

He watched the death of his own personal universe, and it hurt worse than the end of life itself.