The End

"You know, everything we did together will be the last time we ever do it."

She was right. The nearly set sun almost seemed to agree with her words as it cascaded through her hair like the purest of rivers. Top of the world. She was beautiful. The last of the beauty. Soon to fall victim to an unfair universe.

"Like the trip to Roswell we took to look for the aliens?"

"And we couldn't find any, so we busted into the local bar with the alien masks on and they looked at us like we were the most unoriginal fucks in the world?"

She laughed. Her laugh was beautiful. I'd heard it a million times, but right now, it seemed more important. How many more laughs would I hear? It was limited. I thought of funny things to say just so I could hear it again. She laughed through her tears. 

"Remember that time when we went to the masquerade ball, and then went to buy cigarettes at the gas station, and they thought we were robbing the place?" She forced the words through anguish. It hurt me to see how afraid she was, but I didn't want to take my eyes off her face. I didn't want to look at the damning horizon until the very end, with her hand in mine. 

"I remember." I whispered, "You kept screaming, 'I can't go back to the big house!' while the cops were just staring at you."

"Well could you blame me? I thought I was going to die in prison!" I laughed, "Now I know exactly where I'm going to die." She started to cry. Her face twisted into the mask of loss and abandon. I didn't want her to cry. There was no reason to be afraid anymore. Not of terrorists, not of tornadoes, not even of death.

What they don't realize is that the scary part about dying is that you're alone. No one on Earth was alone anymore. We were all in this together. I told her as such.

"I know. I know that we're all going together. But I didn't see everything. The world has so much. There's so many people I never met."

"There's so many people that have never met you. Poor them."

The laugh came back. Just a few more. She needs to smile more. 

"Yeah!" She exclaimed, "Fuck those fuckers in Japan for not making the effort."

She's so incredible.

The ledge of the building was cold, but it felt warm when she was around. The thread in the seams of our jeans burned into our legs as the cross-breeze embraced us in a cool chill. The second moon approached and illuminated the twilight; disguising it as the noon of a summer day. The heat could be felt. But her breath was cool, as it brushed my face. I could still feel it long after it blended into the sounds of panic below. It wouldn't be long now. I expected more calm. 

"Are you scared?" she asked.

I didn't know how to tell her that I wasn't. The fear in my heart was gone. It had been responsible for pumping my blood until I found her, and now I was at ease. I wasn't going to let everything end without her being by my side. And as we sat on that rooftop, there was nowhere I'd rather be. Apocalypse or not. Here she was.

There was a burst. The atmosphere was catching fire. Before the TV went out, they told us this would happen. The sky was alight with the fire of the end, as the now pink clouds ran away in fear to the other side of the world in a futile attempt to rain again. 

"I can't be scared. I'm going to be strong for you. Right until the end."

The tears fell. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to bring her out of it again. I had reminded her of what was coming. that wasn't my intent. I was never great with words.

"Don't cry, lady. Don't make me have to do a shitty chicken dance until the end of the world." She kept crying, so what choice did I have? I danced. No music. Making a god damned ass of myself. She was worth it. 

"Stop, you idiot!." She uttered through tears, "Stop right fucking now! What the fuck is wrong with you? If's like you don't even care what's going on!"

"You're absolutely fucking right!" I screamed, mid-macarena, "I don't care what's going on. I'll be fucking fucked if I go out sad and regretting my last moments here with you, where I'm happiest most."

She laughed. I had her back. It only needed to last a few more minutes. She stood up on the ledge.

"If I fell, would you run down all the stairs to catch me?"

"I would run to hell to catch you."

She fell forward into my arms, just as the impact resounded. The thing they don't tell you about the death of the earth is how beautiful it is. When the ocean was struck, it created a million rainbows, that all shot forth at once. They want to say goodbye. I held her close. I felt her shaking. I got to gaze into the brown pools of here eyes once more before my vision burned away like a film projector stuck on a single frame. She stopped her shaking.

"It doesn't even hurt. I can't see, but it doesn't even hurt."

"At least you won't have to look at my ugly mug anymore." I replied. I heard her laugh.

"Thank god for that."

I guided my hands around her face. Her fierce brow. Her cornflower hair. Her soft lips curved into the most beautiful smile I've never seen.

"I don't-" The sound was so loud it was silent. I put my finger to her lips, and placed her hand on my chest.

My love... My -

Peanut Butter and Jelly: A Retrospective.

When creating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the essential first step is to
make sure there is absolutely nothing else to eat in your, or your surrounding
neighbors kitchens. Fine. I guess I'll do this, because long john silvers ain't
open 24/7.
Aquire bread. You will notice the bread is in a bag. This is working as intended.
Take the little plastic tie thingy off, and put it in your mouth to chew on. This
is basic instinct, but some of us have progressed too far from nature. Like birds
that can't migrate. Take the heel of the bread in your hand, and narrow your eyes.
You're proactive. This little jerk shall not infect the bag any longer. Feed it to
cats(quite frankly, a fate too good for it).
Take a normal, god-fearing piece on bread and place it on the counter. Don't wipe
the counter down first. Build those immunities. The second piece shall remain in
limbo for the time being. Open the jelly jar, followed by the peanut jar. Do this
in alphabetical order, because if you don't you'll need to flick the lights 3 times
and wash your hands for an hour.
Take the knife in your hand. DON'T THINK ABOUT YOUR ENEMIES. If you do, you could
stare at that knife for HOURS. Dip it in the Jelly first, because jelly is easier
to wash off. See? Some of this is totally practical. Use a gentle scooping motion
similar to the one you'd use while picking up a kitten so an ample amount of jelly
finds it's way onto the glimmering blade. Place knife jelly side down on the bread
and spread it all around. You, my friend have half a sandwich. There is no turning
back now.
Remove the secondary piece of bread. Were it sentient, it would breath a sigh of
relief, reveling in a future that is no longer uncertain. and place it on the
counter next to the jelly covered piece of bread. Wash your knife. Cross
contamination can lead to future disdain for yourself and your laziness. Plunge
knife into the peanut butter like a disgraced samurai plunging a sword into his own
abdomen, but then scoop like you did before. Kitten style.
Place knife on bread peanut butter side down, and use a circular motion to saturate
bread with peanut butter. Throw knife in sink. Do not wash. You did dishes last
time. It's someone elses problem now.
You now have the yin and yang of a PB&J. One side has jelly on top. One has peanut
butter. One jelly. And oh, what a pair they make. Take the piece of peanut butter
bread in palm of your hands butter side up. You're almost there. You're still not
excited, but you're malnourished, so you're bound to be in an bit of a state as it
is. Take the Jelly bread jelly side up in the palm of your free hand.
Clap.
There are plates available, but why waste the dish? When you really think about it,
a table is a giant plate on 4 legs.
Here's the tricky part: There are several holes in your face that you have to
choose from. One of them is correct, although all are able to perceive the sandwich
to some degree, you must pick the correct one, or these other face holes will no
longer function as intended. It is difficult to restore these to factory settings.
The answer is mouth. The mouth. Around now, you'll notice that the sandwich is
still clapped between your filthy, filthy hands, and one is sticky with jelly.
Flatness is important, though, so if you've made it this far and didn't lose
conciousness, thank your lucky stars for your own aptitude.
Take the sandwhich in one hand. Because your other hand will be raised to the sky,
cursing the god that cursed you with your aversion to grocery shopping, because you
could be feasting on ramen right now. Bite it like you would a roast chicken that
you have allll to yourself. This is called lying to yourself, and it's how human
beings get shit done.
Chew it up. Do this until the sandwich has one bite left.
Whisper, "I'll see you in hell." and cast the final blow. Throw it away. The
sandwich will be sad it didn't live up to it's potential.
Leave all the ingredients on the counter, because that's what your roommates do,
and you're passive aggressive.
Remove your smart phone from your pocket and play, "Don't stop believin'" by
journey, and walk out of your kitchen in pretend slow-motion, and when the chorus
kicks in, raise your fist up above your head and freeze in place like the end of
"the breakfast club".

When Clara went to sleep that night

She saw it. No one had seen it before, but she did.

What made Clara special? Why did she remember, while the rest of us forget? Why? Perhaps we'll never know. Maybe it's not for us to know... All we do know is what it looks like.

It was the time right before you fall asleep. You know the time I mean. Where you've only just presented your head to your pillow after setting the next days alarm. Those precious moments where all the little things you worry about become ill defined and float away like the smoke from the end of a cigarette. When the white noise becomes deafeningly soothing, and your memories of the day become rewritten into dreams. Sometimes for an instant, you think you're going to fall for no reason and are jolted awake. That was the time, and Clara thought she was going to fall.

That's when she saw it. Next to her newly opened bedroom door.

She said at first, it looked like a dog. A little, skinny dog walking on its hind legs, as if it were begging for a treat. It was different though... not quite a dog. It did not sway. Did not struggle for balance. No tail. It's arms hung down straight.

Clara closed her eyes tight, hoping to cull the waking dream and re-emerge with the dog gone. She couldn't hear any steps. After all, dogs have nails that 'clack' on hardwood. She waited. It had looked so damn real. Just standing there. Motionless but for it' s shallow breaths. Seconds were like deep red scratches screaming down her back lasting hour after awful hour. Colors swirled in her vision and her cheek muscles cramped, but her eyes could not be tight enough.

Maintaining her self-inflicted blindness, Clara wrapped her fingers tightly around the top edge of her comforter, and began to drag it upwards towards her neck. All she needed was the safe force field of the blanket, and she'd be right as rain, and able to ride out the night. The sound of the blanket rubbing against her mattress and pajamas may as well have been a car alarm. She froze. It must have heard that.

If it was real...

Was she just being ridiculous? It was obviously a dream, right? A little dog standing in her room? Of course it was a dream! What a question! Her eyes relaxed, and her grip on the covers became far less dire. We've all been tired and seen things, right? She'd had cajun for dinner. Spicy food... It was definitely in her head.

She opened her tired eyes. It would be some time before they closed again.

It sat there on her footboard, it's back straight, it's legs bent at 90 degrees, and it's fingers intertwined in it's lap.

The tiny grey fingers were the first thing that Clara saw. Her teeth clenched hard enough to make her ears ring as she watched the tiny digits unfurl slowly, while it's tiny, human-like foot tapped in time on the mattress. Her clenched fists were sticky with blood where her nails had broken the skin of her palms. Nails driven deeper and deeper each time the little grey foot came down.

It's left hand began to rise, and her eyes followed. Past it's concave stomach, and the chest with the jutting ribs. So pronounced. It really did look like a dog... Until it's hand reached it's face.

Nothing. Eyes? Nose? Ears? All were absent from it's grey, hairless skull. Just a mouth. A sliver of a mouth with one tiny finger to it.

"Shhhhhhh........"

Clara stared at it, horrified, as it placed it's hand back into it's lap. It faced her, staring with an eyeless face. Utterly motionless. She could make it. Throw the blanket over that 'thing', trap it, and make it to the door! This could work! She braced herself... It's head cocked to the side. Did it know?

Now or never.

She didn't even see it move. Her eyes that had been open and unblinking the entire time the beast had been here, and she missed it. She felt it first. Felt it's little cold hand placed on her mouth. She was frozen. A metallic taste filled her mouth, as her clenched teeth and gums began to give way to the awesome strain.

It smelled like an old library.

The other hand was on her lips now as well, slowly peeling them back to reveal her freshly brushed pearly whites. It used it's grey fingers to pry her teeth apart, and although she tried to force them closed, the hinges were oiled by the creatures will.

It paused, it's head sideways again. Clara's eyes darted around the room frantically as she felt it's tiny fingers touch each tooth one by one; and saw the creature glance over to her nightstand. Her charging phone, a picture of her late mother, and the clock radio... which began to play music. She recognized it as a song she'd heard a thousand times. One of those radio hits that the stations play to death... But it was wrong. Slow. Slower than any song should be.

If you almost stop a record, the songs all sound like growling. Why was it doing this to her?

"Because these teeth don't fit."

It sounded like the creak of a very old door. Clara screamed out, and the radio got louder to match her. This couldn't be happening. Someone needed to give her a pinch and free her from this nightmare!

She never got her pinch. She got a yank. A molar at first, and then 4 more followed. A canine, 2 wisdom, and the bottom front one on the left. All plucked from her mouth, while the radio drowned her wailing in a low-tempo. It placed the teeth in a straight, organized line next to her head, while bobbing to a slowed beat.

Once it finished the arrangement, it stood on Clara's chest and faced her with it's mouth slit leading the absence of a face. The music stopped, and the creature turned and walked the length of her body with a slow, almost professional stride. The grace of a ballerina.

Once back at the foot board, it reached down to pick up a tiny bag that Clara had failed to notice before. Dark brown leather with a face painted on the side in white, the creature reached it's little hand inside and began to liberate the little white objects inside.

"Now these..." It creaked as it held one up, as if to examine it, "Should feel much better."

One by one, it placed the new and foreign teeth into the vacant slots in Clara's gums; taking the time to wiggle each one individually until it was finally secured in place. Finally, it sat back onto her upper chest. Posture completely perfect, legs crossed, and it's face mere centimeters from her own.

"Would you like to sing a song with me?" it cooed. Clara closed her mouth ans vigorously shook her head.

It slouched, "They never want to sing with me."

It leaned forward and placed it's little hands over her eyes. A scream began to escape her throat, but before it could penetrate the open air, Clara found herself exhausted... struggling to stay awake... Had she set her alarm for morning? So frightened before, and now... didn't seem to matter.

She heard it pick up the teeth one by one from their neat little row, and heard them clack together upon entering their new leather home. The tiny, nearly human feet depressed the covers around her as it casually made it's way off of her bed and to the door of her bedroom. The various sounds it was making sounded like movements in another apartment... so far away from Clara. Sleep was taking her away. It felt good. Like she hadn't slept in days. In the final moment before she slipped away, she heard the creature's voice once final time,

"Those should fit better." It took several tiny, grey steps into the hall, "Your Mother would want you to have them. She didn't sing either."