In a small apartment, nestled in the mangled streets of a skyscraper city, John Clark stares at the clock from his favorite chair. Apart from the clock’s dull ticking, John breathes in the silence. The time is 6:19, one minute to sunset. And in exactly 41 minutes, at 7pm, John will never have to check the time again. He always hated clocks and their unnecessary pressure for urgency.

At 6:23 John rises from his chair and moves to the window. He opens the window to let the beautiful night inside. To his left, the sky is ripped open by a burst of color dispersed by the sinking sun. The air is warm and carries the comforting smell of cigarettes and a home cooked meal. To his right John squints at a bright, fiery tumbleweed bursting through the dimming sky, casting an eerie red tint on the world below. A few blocks away comes the faint sound of shouting and several cars in a honking war. The time is now 6:27 and in 33 minutes, at 7pm, the world will be destroyed by a raging fireball that is headed straight towards earth. John has seen death and doesn’t fear it. But he also wouldn’t invite it in for a cup of tea. He calmly accepts it, knowing there is nothing he can do to stop it.

At 6:30, John’s stomach growls in anticipation. Anticipation, not for the end of the world, but for a final dinner. 30 minutes is all he’s got and it’s all he needs to enjoy his last meal. He opens the fridge door and scans the cold fluorescent shelves picking the ingredients he needs. At 6:35, as John stares into microwave’s yellow humming glow, he remembers his life.

From above, hurried footsteps and the slamming of cupboards breaks his stream of thought...

At 6:30, Alexander Wilson is shaking, huddled under a blanket on a drooping couch when he feels his stomach start to moan. He had spent the day frantically getting things done- All the things on his extensive to do list, and now he’s

exhausted. Alex was the type of person who couldn’t leave anything unfinished. So when his growling stomach reminds him of all the food he still has in his fridge and cupboards, he is jarred from his coma into a state of frenzy and panic. The news casters had said 7...it was 6:35. Without wasting time, Alex, now a wild animal, tears through the kitchen, grabbing food and stuffing his mouth. Bread, fruit, raw eggs. Leftover spaghetti, milk, frozen peas; A desperate binge before everything’s gone.

At 6:56, as Mr. Clark sits at the table with his dinner, he listens to the ruckus above him and imagines what his neighbor is doing with his final minutes. And as a brilliant avalanche of light and heat engulfs the world around him, John savors the final bites of a hotdog and an apple.