I’m sitting in a hotel room awaiting
the end of the world. It’s summer. I’ve turned down the thermostat so I can at
least be cool while I’m waiting. I’m
peeking through the shades and see no sign of doomsday. Curious.
I’d turn on the TV and see what the news programs have to say about the
end of the world, but all they do is spit out lies—lies from the government
and lies from corporate owners. I’d be
lying if I didn’t say that I’m scared. I
don’t know what’s worse: dying here alone without loved ones or leaving this
world with unfinished business. I still
have sins to expiate and regrets to dwell on.
I guess it’s ironic: I’ve contemplated suicide for so many years, and
now I fear my demise? Maybe I’m wrong
about the Apocalypse. Anyway, perhaps
I’ll be checking out before it comes. When
the Earth breaks apart and the lights go out, I hope I’m sleeping. I’ve
purposely forewent the hotel room coffee for this very reason.
