Whatever, Just No Pears

In the heat of that August day there was nothing to do but sit inside in the air conditioning and pray you didn't melt. I'll never forget it. It was the kind of heat where time felt slower and the air was as thick as syrup. The kind of day where you had to hope something interesting came on TV because goodness knows you wouldn't be going outside for your action. I guess I should have appreciated my Augusts more though, I'd give anything to feel hot sun again.

I jumped when my sitcom rerun was interrupted by a bright flashing "Breaking News" symbol. The glaring red screen quickly cut to local news anchor, Chris Rowlins, holding a thick stack of papers. Either the heat was getting to him as well in his royal blue suit or this news report was going to be difficult to get through because the man was sweating buckets.

"Good afternoon, folks, we have a serious development today as there has been an important discovery in the astronomical field today. We have found ourselves in the cross fire of a large asteroid storm and have no way to avoid the course these entities. I've been told that Earth has six months to prepare itself to be hit by something drastic." Chris paused for a long moment and took a drink from the mug on his desk. I could do nothing but sit on the edge of my seat.

Is this real? It can't be...they make movies out this sort of thing but it doesn't actually happen, right?

Chris spoke again, "Six months...maybe less. Experts have said to sort your business now and hold on to your loved ones. There is currently an underground facility being built in every state in the country, but I've been told resources will be limited...including space. Not everyone will be able to go underground. Each state is going to have their own method of choosing which of their people come down. I know you're you're all shocked right now, and I know you're all wondering how Iowa is planning their selection process. It is estimated that based on the resources we currently have, and the expansiveness of the underground facility will allow for 300,000 people to survive for up to a year. In order to maintain order and fairness, the selection process will be based around the random selection of social security numbers. Only those at or below the age of 40 and those who have children at or below the age of 20 are eligible. Those who have been selected will be notified within a week. Best of luck, and God bless us all. This has been Chris Rowlins."

I sat in shock. Was there even any point to anything now? Firstly, I'm 42 but I don't have kids, so I guess I never even had a prayer of being chosen. But still, how could I not hope? Of course I wasn't selected. I had already grieved over myself as well as I could after that initial wave of panic. But my heart broke for the people I knew who were eligible but weren't chosen. There was a lot of anger as the names those selected were released. The supposedly randomized process had people who didn't meet the criteria but were well known and had money. Tell me what business a 74 year old millionaire and all of his six kids (who are in their fifties, only two having children below the age of 20) has in the safe zone when there are millions of people who wanted to be chosen? Everything is dirty, even in our final days.

For the past few months the world has been somehow more kind and more cruel. For one thing you can't find anything in stores anymore, not to mention online shopping is a nightmare. My apocalyptic stash is a measly seven cans of corn, two jars of pasta sauce, some dried apple and banana chips, and a few canned pears. I don't even like pears. They're not very sweet and they're too soft. Why anyone would eat a pear for enjoyment I'll never know. People get stabbed over things like loaves of bread and toilet paper, especially as we've been drawing closer and closer to the predicted date of the event; February 27th at roughly 7:12pm. But there is also a beauty in how much more people have been singing, how many more families picnicked in the park when the weather was warm. If only we could be saying goodbye in warm weather. February is so miserable. Snow, ice, bitter temperatures, and everything is a deadened color of white or road slush gray.

A lot of my neighbors have started digging holes in their backyards underneath their porches. I've considered doing it as well. But honestly? I don't think it's worth surviving the end of the word if all I have to talk to is photos of people I'll never see again and all I have to eat is some damned pears.

I do hate that the world is ending, don't get me wrong. I wish it wasn't. I'm not suicidal. But if I'm going to leave this plane of existence I don't want to do it while I'm starving and going stir crazy knowing I won't even see the surface for who knows how long. I know myself, I can't do it.

I already have that day planned out to perfection. No one in their right mind will be out that day, unless they hold a similar philosophy as myself. I'm going to go for a walk in the early moments of the morning, treat myself to a big meal of whatever I have left in the kitchen, visit the cemetery and say goodbye to my mom, give whatever I can to that sweet young couple who just had a baby down the street, and come home. I'll take a bath if the water is still running. I think that's how I want to go. My lovely smelling candles burning everywhere, my feet enveloped in bubbles, and reading a book while listening to some low volume music. Yeah. That sounds lovely. Of course though, they might turn the water off. If that happens, I'll be in my softest slippers in my robe curled by the fire place with my curtains wide open. The world may be dying but at least I'll see one last firework show before it ends. Whatever, just no pears.