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When the news came out, all anyone talked about – after the initial shock had subsided, of course – was where they planned to be. Most wanted simply to be drunk enough not to care. Huge parties were planned; in the days running up to the end of the world alcohol prices surged to unbelievable levels.

When he’d asked her where she wanted to be for the end of the world, she had answered straight away. The top of the hill, where the little chapel stood. The quiet, beautiful place where you could see the sky stretching out forever. The place where he’d proposed to her, and where they’d got married.

He’d smiled, and nodded. It was perfect. They left early to beat the rush in and out of the city, and spent a pleasant few nights in a bed and breakfast nearby, spoilt rotten by a landlady who had nobody else to spend the last days with.

Before dawn on the last day, they walked up to the top of the hill with a picnic basket and three bottles of honey wine. It was clear but cold, and they sat wrapped up in thick blankets with the alcohol slowly insulating them as they waited for the last sunrise.

It came at last, deep red and sluggish, the light seeping across the countryside like thick honey. They could see falling stars that crashed burning into the earth, and fires in the distance. The ground beneath them trembled and shook.

He turned to her and took her hand, kissing her gently on the cheek before whispering into her ear.

“How do you feel?”

She turned to him and smiled, the reflected light from the falling stars and the fires sparkling in her teary eyes.

“Fine,” she whispered back. They kissed, and the world ended.

© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note: Well, obviously it didn’t- I understand it was somehow meant to be at 11am this morning? – but how could I resist the end of the world for a story?)