The clocks tick. The violins sing.

The leaves dance, the trees sway.

The sky is gray, the clouds white, the hope dark.

It’s time, time for the end.

We all knew since it’s start, but as time passed we shoved it in the back of our minds.

Collecting dust until a sound blew it away.

Static, screams, and the brush of danger.

The chances were low, but still there.

Our positivity and nonchalance were high, but not high enough.

Everyone remembered the night when the radio turned on, in the black and gray that we call dusk, announcing the date that it will brush by our small achromatic, dull world.

Today was the day, the day we bit our nails thinking about.

You could see the dread. Hell, you could’ve touched it.

Men were in bars drinking away like no tomorrow, sharing their stories and secrets to strangers. Making what would be their last friend.

Women were comforting their children, who were tearing up with anxiety. Fearful of the dark.

Elderly were strolling, looking up at the sky, looking back around at the sight of anxiety and nature. Reflecting upon their lives, wondering what could be but would never be and how much they lived.

Everyone preparing in their own way. To celebrate tomorrow, to die, to accept, who knows.

But we all snapped our heads up, looking up at the sky when we heard a shrill shriek purely mechanical and manmade.

Not a meteor, not the devil, not even goddamn aliens.

It was a fucking nuke.

An intimidating gray base with a black tip.

Король, a Tsar Bomba, King of All Bombs.

It towered over the crowds, engulfing us in the darkness that we were used to.

The shriek rung in our ears, a reminder that our time was up, the last grain of sand fell to the bottom.

We all saw the light, a flash of heat vaporizing us all before anyone could shed a tear.

Life’s a bitch, but dying in a dull world without knowing what your childrens eye color are is a motherfucker.