What entitles me to talk about the end of the world?
Humans have had gunpowder and steel for years. Rocks and clubs for longer. Teeth and fists for longer. We’ve been ending worlds for centuries.
I bet trench warfare happened on sunny days. Men pulled pins with their teeth while boys bit into birthday cakes.
Why is my end of the world significant? More than every car accident and earthquake combined? My death won’t be as bright as the fire by the bay in 1906.
We only have a few draws left before the filter. But what’s to say the ember is out? Maybe it’ll be hot enough to light a new one.
