Epoch

Author's Note: I don't expect anyone to actually read and review this. This is just me throwing words onto a page and trying to express something, and is definitely not supposed to be treated like a narrative story (though it is). There's no real plot or backstory here, so it will probably be super confusing. If you wish to read it anyway, that's fine, but please just keep this in mind. Warnings for off-screen violence, off-screen death, and descriptions of pain.

The afternoon sun, just slipping below the horizon, does not glow. "Glow" implies some degree of softness, and this is all hard edges and sharp angles, if light could ever be described as hard. It burns, bright white, like hospital lights and lightning. The city, far below us, is no doubt thrown into chaos, though we don't know it.

"What?" You say it like a statement, flat and monotone, with none of the intonation of a question. "Wake up." You slap the dead body on the ground, shaking him by his lapels when he stubbornly refuses to resurrect himself. "How do we stop this? Wake up!"

You're frantic, now, and the corpse looks up at the sky with blank, open eyes, head lolling back. "He's dead," I whisper, the words leaving my mouth before I even realize they're there. "You killed him. We failed. It's over."

"No." You scramble towards the cliff edge, and the body hits the dirt with a soft thump as you release it. I reach out to pull you back, to keep you from getting too close, but I suppose it doesn't matter now. "That's not fair. I killed him just as much as you killed the whole world."

That's not fair, and you know it. He killed the world and you killed him for it. The man was a villain in every story but his, and he's doomed us all, but he's still dead by your hand. I wouldn't mind too much, but you're devastated over it, so I don't repeat the words you already know. And you don't say sorry.

You're staggering to your feet at the cliff edge, and I walk forward to fill the space beside you. The light is too bright to look at, but you look at it anyway; you've never been one to back down from a challenge, and this definitely a challenge. It's a pointless fight: you against the world-destroying unknown in the boxing ring of the universe. No one's taking bets, we all know how it ends. So do you, but you stare into the bright light, growing brighter with every passing second, and I stare at you.

"You won't leave?" you ask like you don't already know the answer. I shake my head and you smile, though your gaze never leaves blinding light on the horizon. "I used to think that nothing mattered because it was all going to end one day. I don't think that anymore."

The light is closer now, and I don't say anything. It'll all be over soon, before I can even think to get the words out. You don't look at me, and I know you know I don't feel the same. You take my hand in yours anyway.

"I didn't think it'd end like this." You're not crying. You always said you would grieve the world when it died, but there's nothing on your face now but the smallest trace of sadness. I guess you could call it resignation, all anger and determination dissipated by the knowledge of a swift and certain end. "I thought it would be bigger, scarier, messier. Different"

The light is too painful to bear now, and I shut my eyes, keeping the image of your face in my mind. I don't ask what you mean, what you see in the midst of that terrible light. The glow behind my eyelids becomes brighter than it was with my eyes open, every nerve in my retina set alight and screaming. I think I might be screaming too, but you're not. "It's beautiful," you say, and I can barely hear you over the roaring in my ears.

I feel like I should have passed out from the pain by now, like my throat should be scraped raw and bleeding from screaming. Everything hurts, almost enough to feel numb, but all I can focus on is the weight of your hand tightening in mine. It's the last thing that still feels real before the light arrives and it all ends.