The end
One day the world will end, our planet will die. There are some very likely ways we’ll meet our demise. Our sun definitely won’t last forever, whether it burns out, or explodes, we’re all dead. It’s also possible that we’ll kill ourselves long before that happens, whether it’s with bombs we use on each other, or pollution that turns our planet against us, suicides of a sort. These are such conventional ways to go, they’re not how I want to go.
When the world ends, I want it to end spectacularly. I want the walking dead to pound at my door, to shatter my windows. I want some rotting living corpse, some living dead girl to hold me close and chew out my throat. I want to feel her cold lips against my neck, her dead hands clutching my shoulders. My blood would pour down my chest, and I’d get sleepy. I’d bleed out happy, knowing that we don’t stop at death. I’d sleep, and I’d wake up.
How do you want us to go?
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