The day before the world ended,
the sky was a pale, faux pink.
I drove to the neighborhood gas station and bought a blueberry muffin.
Then, on second thought,
a pack of cigarettes and a lottery ticket.
That day, the fork latch on the back gate squeaked shrilly as I forced it open,
the corroded metal scraping against my palm.
As I walked along the path in the forest,
I saw fields of mayapples,
remembering how, a lifetime ago,
I had presented a bundle of their delightful green umbrellas to show Mom.
The day before the world ended,
I did my laundry,
barely noticing the slight dampness left by the faulty dryer,
the red stain in my favorite hoodie which had always bothered me,
and the stranded pair of socks which I absent-mindedly paired together.
This room didn’t feel like mine anymore.
I carefully took down the posters and maps and cards that hung on the wall,
placing them hastily into last year’s moving boxes.
I glanced at a few,
echoes of “happy birthdays” and old aspirations,
but most I was eager to let go of.
The fluffy rug running alongside my bed comforted my bare feet,
and I admired how well the texture had been preserved after all these years.
With three hours left,
I walked out of the house with my phone and keys,
sparing a glance at the stars.
Their mocking winks reminded me of their existence above fate.
Locking the door behind me,
an old habit which I used to take strange pride in,
I got in the car.
I thought about how I could almost convince myself that it was winter,
with the tall, bare trees
that could’ve been so beautifully illuminated by the ghostly streetlamp,
in the suffocating silence.
Just last week,
I had admired the reds, oranges, and yellows that had plastered the sidewalks,
and the familiar rustling of the leaves in the wind.
Passing by the pond just down the road,
I rolled down the window,
not bothering to stop the car.
I heard the faint splash of the keys
and felt a breeze that made my eyes sting.
I’d scarcely driven to the airport before,
and nearly missed the exit.
It was a first class flight I had booked,
but the purchase was fully inconsequential.
And as the plane left the tarmac of IND,
I watched through the oval window as the sky went dark.