Final Countdown

“Bye John!”

“Bye Larry!”

I hop into my Toyota Camry. My parent’s house is only a 10 minute drive from work. A nice commute for “Last Day On Earth.” I pass by the usual: Ms. Pickens pruning her daisies, Sarah and Sasha tanning on the lawn, their brother Joey biking around them in circles, and the old Chinese lady collecting her cans. I decide to give asking Sarah out one last good ol’ fashioned American try.

“Hey Sarah, you wanna kill yourself with me tonight?”

Sarah raises her sunglasses, lowers her tanning mirror, and gives me a solid up and down. She shrugs, "No." Wouldn’t be the first time, I think to myself. But it will be the last.

I get to Mom and Dad’s house, and park under the palm tree. Ah… the tree of my childhood. It has the markings from when I first liked Sarah. I touch it gently. Then I go inside.

Mom is making her classic pot roast. It smells grand.

“Hi Johnny! Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Yeah Mom, I had to finish some stuff up at work.”

Corbin on CCN shouts from the TV: “Here are the top 10 most popular ways our viewers have voted to die tonight.” Mom changes the channel, to an interview of a hill billy couple standing next to a tree with two large heifers tied on a pulley system. “So see right here, when I let go, they’ll come straight dead on our heads, and boom, a guaranteed pre-catastrophic blunt force trauma.” Mom changes the channel again. A wiry white haired man in a collared blue button up describes, “My name is Dr. Fici, astrophysicist and planetariologist, and as predicted, the asteroid will make contact at precisely 5:02PM Eastern Standard Time. We advise all families stay together and make necessary arrangements.” I look up at the clock, and it says 4:30. Mom yells, “Okay kids! Food’s ready!”

Haley comes in, holding a worn-down teddy bear, wearing her favorite paisley dress and heart shaped locket (it’s got a picture of Bill Murray in his pre-hair-thinning days, and another picture of her old cat Charlie). Dad comes in dressed in his 40-year old wedding tuxedo. I think I’ve seen it in an old picture somewhere in the house. He’s put on thirty three pounds since then. Aunt Marie and Uncle Bob enter from behind me, “Did you pick up my dress?” Mom asks them. “Here you are,” says Uncle Bob. Aunt Marie leans in to whisper and winks, “I had them add a little fabric.” Mom blushes, "Okay everyone! Go ahead and dig in! We haven't got much time."

Everyone sits down and begins to eat.

The clock strikes five. Uncle Bob turns the TV volume up. “Thanks for joining us in the final countdown. Now is the time to prepare your methods.”

Uncle Bob pulls out a tooth from his old Russian Commy days. “This one was never used, and I always regret it.” He pulls out another one and hands it to Aunt Marie. “This one I saved just for you, sweetie. I love you.” Aunt Marie giggles. “I love you too, honey sugar.”

Mom hands Dad a large bottle of full-bodied Far Niente Chardonnay from Napa, California, and a box of Ambien. Haley throws her teddy on the table and pulls out a razorblade from the stuffing. I get out my grand pop’s trusty, dusty .38 special revolver. I open the chamber to look at the bullets. All there. Good to go.

Dr. Fici counts down. 10… 9… 8… 7… I look around. I smile at my family. My eyes tear up, “I love you guys so much." Mom says, “We love you guys too.” Haley and Aunt Marie say, “Thank you for taking us in.” Uncle Bob adds, “Yup. Did a service to the country helping watch my girls when I was off in the war.” 6… 5… 4… 3… Dad says, “My button’s too tight.” Mom fusses. “Come on honey, just suck in a little.” 2… 1… Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

My gun didn’t fire. The bullets must have been too old the gunpowder went bad. I’ve been too busy at work to go get new ones. Dammit.

The chandelier starts shaking, and I feel sweat dripping off my eyebrows. Mom’s precious china falls out of the cabinets. My ear drums start to burst. I look outside, and a giant asteroid scorches my childhood palm tree. I run outside to see the asteroid disappear into the distance. Nothing else is burnt. Just my fucking tree.

I go back inside, and everyone is dead.

Fuck.

The TV is playing elevator jazz music.

I need to to kill myself! I grab my tie and tie it around my neck and attach it to the chandelier. I kick the chair out from under me, and the chandelier drops on my head. Still alive, I reach for the nearest knife and see that it’s a spoon. I drop the spoon. I get a fork. It’s got pot roast on it. I can’t use that. I go back to the spoon. I jab myself with the handle of the spoon. Come on. It’s gotta work.

I hear a thin, shaky voice come back on TV. Dr. Fici, scrambles onto his chair. “There… there was a miscalculation.”