Knock Knock...

The fabled end of the world loomed neigh.

A prophecy that had found its bearings through the whispers of millennia gone by, brought to fruition by the ill sowed efforts of man.

We had finally outdone ourselves. A mass-scale bludgeoning of Planet Earth that even despite our mother's plea's for mercy, was ignored to fill the pockets of those greedy enough to scrounge on dollars in lieu of a roof over our heads. The National Bureau of Climatology had issued its preliminary warning on the 3rd of April, 2047.

Stop, or else we will be stopped, seemed to be the gist.

But really, there had been warnings like these before hadn't there? And we'd always made it, through luck or brawn. Persistence was key. We won't stop, seemed to be the message from humans. And so, despite adopting the docile approach of calling out for mercy, mother nature decided that a rather drastic approach was needed to help preserve the planet, and it would come at the cost of a mass culling of humans.

And so, it sent out a giant tidal wave as it's executioner, to do it's deliverance of "justice", for justice was exactly what some thought it to be.

Justice that was long overdue and justice that was even necessary.

As is always the case with extinctions, they come upon us slowly yet swiftly. A paradox not of comic proportions, but of grave vitality. Slowly, because we never can feel the end is near, as is the arrogance with things that we can't see. And swiftly, because it all happens so fast in those final few seconds, that when death comes, we are left cursing The Grim Reaper himself as to why he wouldn't bestow upon us a fair warning of sorts so that we could get our affairs in order.

And so, it was decided. Death loomed for all. Not everyone would have the chance to get their affairs in order. Not even those who were so far away from it all, in a land where all of the bludgeoning's effects could be seen starkly.

It was the 2nd of August, 2047.

The Polar Ice Caps, Somewhere deep in the Antarctic.

Two men find themselves settling into a couple of handcrafted chairs with cups of freshly brewed coffee and a crossword and Sudoku in either hand.

This was the night John and Whittington had lived every night for the past five and a half months.

A night that never ceased to lessen in loneliness or distance, from the world they had long left behind.

A frosty breeze barged against the igloo that the two men found themselves inhabiting, but that was not their most immediate worry.

"The coffee machine needs fixing, John." said Whittington quietly as he sipped on his mug. The wind crashed against the external surface of the hut and fell over the photograph that lay on the table.

"There go Maria and Chessy." said John standing over to pick up the frame that his wife and daughter occupied. He looked at the picture and smiled.

"Seriously John," said Whittington looking up, "The coffee machine is the only thing keeping me going here. I'm no good with handy work. Just fix it by tomorrow, alright ?"

John was too busy admiring his four-year-old daughter. She had a fabulous smile, if he might say so about his own kin. And the bulges of her perfectly circular cheeks made her look even more splendid, as the sun shone through the windows onto her kind face.

"She looks just like her Ma," he said turning the frame around to reveal the guilty party to his friend.

"She is adorable," said Whittington smiling in agreement. If Whittington smiled, that was a testament to whatever caused the occurrence, such was the rarity of the occasion. 

"She's a little more than adorable Whitty. She's my princess" said John proudly. He set the picture back on the table and went to take a closer look at the coffee machine.

"Hmm," he pondered. "Looks like a case of overheating, Watson. Nothing a nights worth of rest can't fix."

Whittington nodded, assured at his friend's analytical prowess.

The wind picked up in ferocity, but that didn't stop John from opening the door of their hut and venturing out to their sled, to haul in the large chunk of meat they'd managed to procure from Eskimos they'd encountered on their trip down to the Lake. He dragged in the whale carcass and set it down by the grill, looking over to Whittington as if to say, "This is your area of expertise."

Whittington looked up, assenting the courtesy of a glance from solving his Sudoku to his expectant comrade.

 "I'm hungry" he announced with a shrug and proceeded to move aside to let Whittington have a go at the grill.

In the distance, death prepared himself in the mirror. He looked well, yes this would do. He proceeded to charge down the mountains of the Tundra, towards the two men in the hut. A gargantuan tidal wave that had wiped out almost every last man on Earth. John and Whittington would mark the end of death's journey. 

But right now, the meat was the only thing occupying either men's mind. John waiting in relish of dinner, and Whittington because he couldn't stand the smell of smoked meat filling his lungs. The bare necessities of survival had taught both men to live with their conditions. Gratitude had become a part of daily life. When you have nothing going for you, you learn to conjure up from the depths of your mind, seemingly out of nothing, bits and pieces of daily life that you are thankful for, that most in other predicaments wouldn't notice. There was plenty going against John and Whittington out here in the Antarctic.

The relentless cold.

The barren landscape that stretched beyond the horizon.

The knowledge of life going on thousands of miles away while they existed in isolation for months on end.

The last being a statement rendered untrue by the monster wave dashing towards the men. Life had taken its leave and if truth be told, was counting on John and Whittington to be the carriers of it for they represented the last of mortal beings.

But this was what they had volunteered for. And so, John would be okay with the wait for dinner and Whittington would calmly cook dinner for his friend, at the cost of a grumpy lung or two.

The meat was done to perfection, but Whittington needed some fresh air to rid himself of the exhaust. He stepped out for a whiff of ice and snow, with just a tiny helping of oxygenated air.

The sun was setting in the distance. It seemed like just another day on Planet Earth.

He nodded in agreement of the phenomena. The sun; THE beacon of hope and life. It felt uneasy watching it set today. There was something about its descent that seemed sad to Whittington. It seemed to draw down slower than it usually did, as if urging the watcher, "Look at me as much as you please now, I will be gone soon"

So Whittington looked.

And looked more.

Until the purplish yellow figure faded from the horizon. It would be a dark night that would follow. Only Whittington figured it would be one he'd survive, just like he had without any conscious effort the many nights gone by. It was five minutes to midnight. Such was the way nature played itself out beautifully in this part of the world, that the sun was an ever-present figure in the clear skies above in Summer, and in the Winter, it barely appeared once, if at all. One of Mother Nature's many wonders that would soon be lost from the eyes of humans.

John was not much of a sunset watcher. He preferred reading and contemplating what he'd do once he got back to Kansas. Ambition was a virtue he had banked heavily on to get him here. He was the son of a cave miner who had taught him that without ambition, one was pushed into a life where coming back home at the end of the day was not a given. Miners died with alarming frequency in Kansas, the result of negligent working conditions ignored persistently by employers, safety laws that would have been certain grounds for inhumane work practices had someone bothered making a check every now and again, or just plain old disregard. If you don't wish to die down in the mines, you must show ambition to rise.. And risen had John. First, a scholarship to Kansas State University to study Climate Change (Yes, they had actually a course designed specifically for that, in keeping with how the world had been progressing) and then a Masters that followed soon in Arctic Maritime Management. He now wished to move into a more comfortable research position down in the institute at Berkeley. Buy a house down on the beach and move in with Maria and Chessy. Ride the waves on the weekends, and work like you wouldn't believe it over the weekdays. He contemplated this as the juicy cut of meat entrenched itself between the cavities of his teeth.

Whittington walked in and shut the door behind him with a loud thud. John turned around and gave his friend an inquiring glance. "Hungry ?"

Whittington merely grunted to display dissent.

There was a brief chat about how they'd go about the sample collections the next morning, and John decided that he'd be the one who would cascade down into the large crevice, and fetch the required glacial samples for inspection.

"What's gotten into you ?" said Whittington suspiciously. "You want to go down? You actually volunteer to go down into the crack ?"

"Sure, why not," said John as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Look, I've been thinking, I want to get involved more, you know? Sure, it's fun watching you go down every now and then and guide you through the dark, in the knowledge that I'm safe up on land. But, I don't know, I feel like I've been too safe a man all my life, Whitty. I would like to go down there and fetch those samples, if that's alright with you ?"

"It's alright by me, sure." said Whittington settling into his chair.

"You know, all that thinking you do in here, that's something I want to do too. I've been thinking I want to get married, Johnny boy. Find myself a woman who is okay with me being the way I am. And have some kids of my own too you know? Settle down. Move out to the Wild West. A ranch. Maybe a couple of horses. I've been thinking I've had just about enough of this place." He then spoke more seriously, as if delivering a secret to John "I like what you have, John. I even envy it. There isn't much satisfaction in living for yourself, at least not for as long as I have been going. Please don't tell anyone I've been speaking like this, okay? They'll just think old Whitty is going crazy."

"You aren't going crazy, my friend !" exclaimed John in joy ."You have finally come to your senses. A marriage is what every sane man needs. Look at me. I think I contribute a lot of my late forties sanity to Maria, if I'm being completely honest. Before her, this " he said displaying himself as if he were a damaged artifact, "this was a giant pile of mess. She was like a breath of fresh air and changed my world the minute she stepped into it. Oh yeah, I'm certain Maria and Chessy are to thank for my ability to keep on going every day. Look around us, Whity. It's a desolate planet, and sometimes life can get like that too. You wouldn't want to live here forever, would you? "

Whittington shook his head firmly and then regarded his friend "I can't wait to go back, John. I can't wait to go back."

A faint rumble sounded in the distance, as if a truck's engine had been brought to life. 

"Did you hear that ?" asked John casually, dissecting another piece of meat via his fork.

"Yeah, I heard it alright. Pretty loud, wasn't it ?"

"Sure was."

The two men sat in silence, existing in each other's space with remarkable placidity. Whittington discarded his boots and proceeded to slip into a pair of cotton slippers that had a warm seal of insulation on them.

"Got these from Ice Station Bassington," he said prodding them forward in John's direction. "They're neat. You can almost not feel the cold, if your numb your mind hard enough"

John laughed a self-deprecating laugh, an ode to the harsh conditions the two men lived in. Numb your mind hard enough. That was funny.

The rumble grew in decibels but shrunk in proximity. It seemed to be arriving, with the purpose that something far away does, that wants' to get itself closer to you in a remarkable hurry, nearing you with such vigour, that before you know it, it is at your doorstep.

"Okay that surely can't be a thousand trucks that are charging at us all at the same time," said John for the first time looking out of the window. 

A sight beckoned over the mountains. A sight that although scary and catastrophic, prompted nothing but a blank expression on John's face.

"It's a wave, Whitty," he said plainly, as his friend failed to catch his words.

"What ?" asked Whittington gruffly.

"Yeah, I can see it, coming down from the mountains. A wave."

"You know, the coffee was indeed terrible. I'm starting to think it didn't even give me the kick that its supposed to. Damn coffee machine. So much for your re-assurance. I don't think I can make it till tomorrow."

John turned around and approached his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Whittington, my friend." He looked into his friends eyes and just for the briefest of moments, there was puzzlement on Whittington's face. And then, there was an even quicker realization.

Whittington played back the words in his head, as he felt his friend's hand on his shoulder. The words should have brought with them a sobering, incomprehensible reality that would have motioned a response even from the hard Whittington, but instead, such was the plainness of the way John had said those words, that even if true, there seemed to be no point in offering a reaction.

But the reaction did come eventually.

"A wave..". He looked into his friend's eyes and remained stunned. Stunned not at the wave itself, but the somber fragility of present they now occupied.

John, in his final few seconds walked over calmly to Maria and Chessy and placed them in his coat. But before he did so, e kissed Maria and then Chessy, twice. He couldn't bear himself to part as easily the first time. Chessy's cheeks got a little rollicking from her father. Yes, he hoped she felt it all those miles away. He would see her soon, somewhere, someday. It was now time to go greet death at the door.

What do you do? Do you ask why? A wave approaches you from the distance. What is the purpose of asking why? It comes nonetheless. It brings death. Death is certain. The why seems pointless. Ambition seems pointless. Marriage seems pointless. The coffee machine purring unsuccessfully in the counter seems pointless. The only thing that does seem to make sense, is acceptance. Acceptance of a fate that is unfair. But then, if everyone is dead, is it really unfair? It's fair. None are spared.

The wave came upon the igloo fast, but it didn't stop John and Whittington from embracing each other one last time. And as their hands felt each other, the wave entered, and lifted both men off their feet. It was poetry in motion, even for death. It came, it swept them away, and everything was calm once more. The two men were gone, and with them, vanished life's last foothold from Earth.

There was a serenity about the entire occurrence. Not a gory bloodbath, not much resistance. Just a calm acceptance from mankind that we had faltered.

Where not too long ago two men had been stood, discussing the affairs of their existences, the deep and the mundane, there now lay the new foundational bricks for the new creatures incoming. There would be the passing of the torch. And then, life would begin again someday, when death was done laying in rest, here on Planet Earth.