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The end, they say, came with fire and fury.

Above us the sky became a golden war field, beautiful and dread. Power beyond understanding, likened only to the gods, but formed from science and with the wicked determination of mankind. A beautiful, dreadful finality, like fireworks in hell.

For those that watched, it burned their retinas like an eclipse might do. The last sight ever seen, and so wondrous, that perhaps that was enough to assuage the loss.

For here, in the ‘other place’ we are what we were in those last moments, frozen like a butterfly held under glass, pinned down to an eternity perhaps of nothing more than beingness in the void.

There is no passageway to a heaven though the terrible evil of the end. There is no descent to hell when the sins of all rival all here. We are all complicity, all failed, all lost. Waiting in a limbo of what we were the moment of the end.

Blind, those that watched reach to each other, but each is always a bare moment away.  Even those that held to others the last moment are now separate, alone.

I did not watch the fireworks, so I can see them, but that is little consolation, a bittersweet ability that provides no comfort and no utility here. It might be better to be blind.

They speak of the end, of the fire and fury. Some still express surprise that it even happened. We waited on the brink for so long and nothing ever, ever happened, so how could anything ever, ever happen?

But all it was, this end, was just a different choice. Nothing more and nothing less.

And now we wait in eternity to ponder that simple fact. And we wait together but we wait alone.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2018