The End is Coming

The world was ending, and yet, nothing had changed for him.

Asahi woke up to the sound of silence. The kind that weighed heavy, pressing against his skull like a dull headache. His bed was a mess, sheets tangled around his legs, and pillows tossed aside. He stared at the ceiling, watching cracks spiderweb across the paint, which was slowly decaying.

A year. That was how long the world had left, or so the rumors said.

The first earthquake had been distant, just a tremor beneath the feet of those who paid close attention. Somewhere in the Pacific, a research facility had disappeared overnight, swallowed by a massive crack that appeared out of nowhere. The reports were inconsistent – some said the crack was in the earth, others swore it was in the sky. Either way, the earth’s magnetic field had fractured, causing the satellites to fall like dying stars.

The government blamed a failed experiment. Scientists muttered about forces beyond human understanding. And then, the news stopped. One by one, the officials behind the project turned up dead, their bodies found in places they had no reason to be. Some were miles from home while others were locked in rooms without a single disturbed lock. The last broadcast from the world’s leading physicists simply said:

“We have torn the Veil. It has become unstable. We don’t have more than a year. The End is upon us...”

But Asahi didn’t care. Not really. He had long stopped caring about the world, and the world had returned the favor. He hadn’t left his apartment in weeks, hadn’t spoken to another person in a long time. His parents had been gone for years. He had no siblings. No friends – No one.

And yet, the news did nothing to him. The power still worked, though the internet had long since died. The city below was unraveling – riots, looting, the inevitable collapse of law and order. But in this room, in his own little corner of existence, everything remained the same.

With a groan, he forced himself up. The morning routine was the same as always. Stumble into the bathroom and splash cold water on his face. Unshaven, hollow eyes and dark circles eating away at his skin. He brushed his teeth mechanically as he stared at his reflection in the slightly cracked mirror.

Breakfast was a cup of instant noodles, barely warm, which he ate while sitting on the edge of his bed. His tiny apartment was suffocating – piles of unopened mail, empty cans, and dust gathering in the corners. He had no real reason to clean anymore.

After finishing his bland, lukewarm noodles, Asahi wandered towards the window, peeling back the curtains just enough to see outside. The city had become barely recognizable.

Smoke curled from the distance, dark plumes rising from what must have been another fire – another building swallowed by the madness. The streets below were littered abandoned cars, shattered glasses, and people moving like restless shadows, scavenging through the wreckage of what used to be a normal life.

Near the intersection, a convenience store had been ransacked. The metal shutters hung crooked, bend inward where they had been pried open. A group of men loitered outside, clutching stolen goods – bottles of alcohol, boxes of supplies – and laughing like was some twisted holiday.

Then, a lone figure ran up, desperate, pleading. Maybe he was trying to take something back, or maybe he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Asahi couldn’t hear the words exchanged, only the sharp motion of one of the looters pulling something from his jacket. A glint of metal.

A gunshot cracked through the air.

The man collapsed. The group barely reacted. One of them even stepped over the body as they walked away, vanishing into the ruins of the city. The corpse twitched once, then finally went silent.

Asahi didn’t look away.

He thought maybe he should have felt something – fear, disgust, even just a flicker of shock. But all he felt was nothing. Maybe this was just how things were supposed to be.

Eventually, he drifted towards the easel in the corner of the room. The half-finished painting stared back at him. The colors bled into one another – formless and shapeless.

He dragged his brush across the canvas. He had meant to paint something – anything – but all he saw was a mess of dark, angry strokes. It reminded him of the sky after the crack appeared. A twisting void, something staring back from between the clouds. People called it an illusion. An effect of the magnetic failure. He had felt it. And he wanted to find out more about it. Deep inside, he knew – the world was not just ending. It was…

Just then, a knock at the door made him flinch. The first real sound in days. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it. But then it came again, louder and more insistent.

He frowned. No one came here.

Slowly, he got up, dragging his feet toward the door. But before he could unlock the door, it swung open with a force.

A man stood on the other side. A face Asahi had not seen… in a long time.

His friend – Haruto.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Haruto studied him for a second and then, gave a small grin. ”Still alive, huh?”

Asahi swallowed, “Unfortunately.”

Haruto chuckled, stepping inside without asking. He wandered through the room as if he was revisiting an old life, trailing his fingers across the dust-coated surfaces. He nudged an empty can with the toe of his shoe, lifted an unopened envelope before staring at it for a while. Then, he turned around to study Asahi’s half-finished painting without a word.

Asahi became uneasy. “What are you doing here?”

Haruto shrugged. “Thought I’d see how you were holding up.”

“That’s a first,” Asahi muttered, but Haruto didn’t react.

Silence filled the room, thick and awkward. Asahi sighed and turned towards the tiny kitchen. “You want something to eat… or drink?”

Haruto glanced at him but didn’t answer right away. Then, finally: “No.”

Haruto sat down on the worn-out couch, watching him.

It wasn’t until Asahi finally took a seat across from him that Haruto leaned forward, clasping his hands together. His expression darkened as his playfulness from earlier faded.

“Asahi,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “We need to leave.”

Asahi paused for a moment. “What?”

Haruto didn’t blink.

“Why?” Asahi asked. “Where are we even going?”

Haruto hesitated. Then, softly, he said:

“Because I found something. And I think she would’ve wanted you to see it.”