Preparing For the End of the World

The end of the world is something often depicted as a fiery destructive catastrophe, or at least that’s what Isaiah was told by his mother while she read him Revelations. Isaiah was too young to remember the craze surrounding 2012 and too blissfully unaware of the impending doom of the climate crisis. The end of the world only existed in nightmares, encapsulated by a horrifying monster or a sudden fall, wrapped up and folded in his mind, easily forgotten in the blink of an eye. To him, the end of the world was sudden and active. The complete other end of the spectrum didn’t exist for him. Nothingness was the darkness you saw when you closed your eyes. Not an absence of vision, but just darkness. And that was good enough for him.

This all changed on a warm September day when the leaves danced with life and death. It was oddly warm for Isaiah’s standards, but the temperature had been jumping around so often that it became almost normal and expected. He still maintained his summer tan, resembling his father’s ebony skin tone more so than the iron-rich reddish brown that he was normally seen in the wintertime. As he walked home from the bus stop a few minutes from his house, a glint in the sunlight caught his eye. He stopped, turning to see where it had originated from. Nothing.

He continued onward. Another sparkle shone from his left. There it was again, only this time, Isaiah was determined to follow it. 

Further into the woods Isaiah tracked. The sun became hidden by the vast number of pine trees that towered over him. A mosquito buzzed in his ear, and he waved it away, now annoyed at the number of bites he would have to treat when he got back home. What kept him going was finally arriving at the place where the sparkling piece was. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was rock.

“Quartz?” he wondered aloud.

He bent down to inspect the mineral and pushed aside the leaves and twigs that covered it. It was embedded in more rock, stretching to his left. He followed it eagerly, brushing aside more debris with his foot. Eventually, he came to a cluster of pine trees. Pushing them aside, feeling their branches scratch and scrape his face, he broke free. 

“Aha!” He exclaimed excitedly. “A secret cave.”

It was like a fantasy movie. A secret passageway. Who would’ve thought? The best part is that it was all to himself, as it looked like the ground was unmarked with footprints. He began to trek further inside. The air became colder and more humid. Quartz dotted the walls as the passage became tighter. Isaiah could barely fit his bag in. He began to feel claustrophobic. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out, but he was stuck. He could only go forward.

Just as he felt that his lungs were going to explode, the cave opened into a wide dome. The walls were sand colored and decorated with more quartz, sparkling in the afternoon sun. He gazed around, wide eyed in wonder. How was this hidden for so long? Did others know of it?

But the walls weren’t the feature that captured his full attention. Standing, as if under a spotlight, was a young tree.

The tree was twisted yet straight, old yet young, delicate yet firm. It stood in the middle of the cave, growing out of the only spot that was directly under a hole opened to the sky. It was a dogwood tree like his father liked to plant, long since flowered, its leaves now a sunset orange and ruby red.

Isaiah approached the tree slowly, his shoes staining brown from being buried under the mounds of loose soil. Who had planted it here? Did his father find this cave and use it as his sanctuary? Why hadn’t he seen it before?

He slowly reached his hand to touch its leaves before it spoke.

“You might as well ask before touching.”

Isaiah jumped, startled, then blushed out of shame and embarrassment. “I’m-I’m sorry,” he fumbled. “I didn’t know you were alive. If I had I would’ve.” He looked down sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Cheeky boy,” it said in disapproval, though there were notes of teasing in its voice.

“I know nothing but have seen all,” it declared to him. “And have deep roots in time. Come closer, and I shall tell you a dark truth.”

Isaiah cautiously took a step forward and lowered his ear to its bark. 

“The end of the world will arrive tomorrow, and you must prepare for it.”

Isaiah blinked. “The end of the world...?” He asked.

“Yes! The end of the world!”

“Wait, what’s happened? Is a meteor coming? Are aliens invading? Are we going to be bombed-”

“No, no! None of that human rubbish. Quite the opposite actually. Nothing will happen.”

Isaiah’s eyebrows furrowed. “If nothing’s going to happen,” he began, “then why tell me at all?”

“Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen!” the tree exclaimed. “Nothing will happen. Everything will cease to exist. The end of the world isn’t eternal damnation, but an eternity of the absence of anything. Say, have you ever experienced floating in bath water?”

“...What do you mean?” Isaiah asked.

“If you heat your bath water up to a temperature similar to your own, you won’t be able to fully distinguish the water from yourself. You are only a floating consciousness, mind over body, until you will yourself to separate and unplug the drain. That is nothingness.

“What if someone doesn’t sink into the bathwater?”

“No one resists the water.

“It will go like this:

The color will drain out of everything, blood rushes to your ears and suddenly 

floats at a standstill, and your body too will fold over like a weeping willow, until dandelion seeds rise and float silently away, carrying the memory of what once was at time and space fade. The world will appear to be fumbling to catch itself.”

It took a moment for Isaiah to find the courage to speak again. “But, don’t we need to tell people this? Why are you only telling me?”

“Because, it is sometimes best to leave one in the dark. And to that, I wish you goodnight.” The tree was once again silent, swaying softly in the light breeze. Stunned, Isaiah stood there before trying to shake it, to call out its name, to ask more. One couldn’t just drop a bombshell like that and expect to just leave! But apparently so, as he begged until the sky faded and his mother called his name. He left the cave, the loose dirt already covering his tracks.

Isaiah didn’t bother telling his mother and father about the end. Of course, how would he? So, he allowed his mother to tuck him into bed one last time and studied all the features of her face, to memorize every single curve and crevice.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she commented. “Is everything okay?” 

He just nodded, and his mother gently kissed his forehead before leaving his room. Isaiah wished she would have come back, but she was already long gone. Isaiah now faced the challenge of turning on the water and taking the plunge. And he was terrified.

The day that the world ended was an off-colored one. Isaiah forced his eyes open, the bright sunlight floating through his open window. He hid his head under the covers, knowing that today, in some way, was the end of it all. For him, he hadn’t even thought far enough into the future to feel distress from missing the milestones that the adults were always nostalgic for, but he definitely felt a sense of bewilderment of missing something. The possibility of being a fireman; the possibility of going to college (however that would be); the possibility of living his life the way everyone fantasized about. 

“I can’t even think about ending,” he whispered. What was nothingness? What was an abrupt end? Sure, Isaiah knew about movie credits, maybe a fadeout or a jump cut to a black title card, but those at least wrapped up. Would this wrap up? How could it? He didn’t even know how it would happen. Would they slowly just dissolve? Would they drown? What did it mean to fold like a willow? His grandmother had a willow in her front yard. Would they turn into willows?

Isaiah sighed and rose from his hiding spot. He wanted his mom.

But he would never reach her before the process started.

The first thing that he noticed was that something was wrong with the shadows. Or, rather, that there weren’t any shadows.

Every component of his room, from his dresser to his slippers, were void of any shading. They were flat, or at least appeared so, still retaining depth but never truly revealing it. 

Panicked, Isaiah felt his face desperately and ran to his bathroom, scared that he, too, was flat. No, he still had his shadows. He needed to find his mom.

Isaiah ran down the hallway, barely managing to stay upright and avoid slipping in his racecar socks. “Mom! Dad!” He called out as he made it to the living room and kitchen. 

The house was silent. He searched in every room, every closet and pantry, and even in places like behind the couch. He knew they wouldn’t be there, but he was desperate to look.

“Mom? Mom?” Isaiah’s voice broke with each cry. He could feel his face growing hot. They were gone.

Isaiah ran outside, trying to run from whatever this hell-to-be was. Leaves crunched with every step. The air was surprisingly warm...as if he couldn’t feel it at all.

He was already in the bathtub.

Isaiah looked to the horizon, but instead of seeing the sloping hills and mountains so familiar to him, he only saw rolling white fog. Wait--Isaiah squinted. That wasn’t fog.

It was just white. 

It was nothingness.

The sun was suddenly too bright now. The tall pines surrounding him on either side suddenly stretched and pulled up, as if he had elongated a picture on his computer. Isaiah’s eyes widened in fear. He found himself counting his breaths subconsciously as he ran. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

He didn’t know where he was running to. Just somewhere. Anywhere where his legs would take him. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and wrapping his arms around his shoulders to stop himself from shaking. 

The air around him became cooler and more humid. He peaked with one eye and found himself in the cave with the tree. 

“So,” it croaked, “You’ve come back, haven’t you?”

“Everything is disappearing, and I don’t know what to do!” Isaiah blurted out. 

The tree’s branches shook back and forth, as if it was shaking its head. “What is there to do except wait?”

“Can’t we do anything?” Isaiah asked indignantly.

“Would anything matter when there is nothing ahead? Instead of trying to fight it, embrace it. You would be fighting a losing battle. At least then you would be content with the world coming to a close.”

Isaiah scoffed. “Are you not going to fight? My mom and dad are gone! There’s nothing beyond the horizon!” He began to pace around the room. “The-the shadows are all off, the light’s too bright, the trees are stretched…” He stomped his foot and turned to face the tree. “You’re the only place where nothing has changed! Come on, you’ve got to be able to do something. Please!”

“Stop throwing a tantrum and let go.”

“I can’t!” Isaiah ran and clutched the tree hard, wrapping his arms around its worn stump until his knuckles turned white, but the tree tensed, nudging him away with its stump and leaves, knocking him to the ground.

He stared up in confusion and hurt, scraped and bruised.

“Why?” he cried. “Why can’t I hold onto you? Everything is disappearing and you’re the only thing I have left!”

The tree sighed and bent down, leaning over to meet the boy at eye level.

“What did I tell you before, young man?” it asked.

“I know what you told me!” Hot tears welled in his eyes. “I know what you said but it doesn’t make it right!”

“We all seek anchors.” The tree stopped and looked wistfully outside of the cave. “But anchors never truly last. Even the heaviest ones are eventually pulled away by the harsh tide. I will not be with you forever.”

“I don’t want you here forever.” Isaiah looked down. “I just want you with me now.”

The tree stared wistfully on as the light from the cave faded from golden to a harsh light grey. The monochromatic scheme began to spread throughout the cave, rushing over the walls and darkening the ground to a mound of ash.

“Do you know what the process of death is, Isaiah?” The tree inquired.

“You die and then you go,” he answered bluntly.

“For all living things, it’s different. But for humans, death comes and goes in stages. Movement is first hindered. Then sight. The last thing is hearing.” It paused. “Do you suppose humans can hear colors?”

Isaiah glanced up to see the color drain out of the tree’s antique bark. He looked down at his own hands and cried out in horror. 

“Why am I grey?!” He exclaimed.

“Without colors one only has values. You and I are the same now, aren’t we?”

“How much longer?” A sense of longing and dread was making the hairs on the back of his head stand up straight.

“When the world goes dark and silence fills the air, my boy.”

Isaiah stood alone, his arms limp on his sides, his feet grounded but loose enough to fall over. The tree's leaves began to decay and fall, one by one, then five at a time, then all at once. Patches of lichen began to grow on its bark as it became twisted and gnarled. A slight moan was barely heard, but Isaiah wasn’t focused on that.

Darkness had begun to set in on the cave, casting out any light once there. Isaiah frantically searched for the cave walls, or even the tree, despite it not wanting him to cleave to it. He couldn’t help it. After all, he was only ten.

He opened his mouth to shout, to make sure he wasn’t alone. But no sound came out. He tried again. Nothing. Singing. Nothing. There was no sound at all. Only eerie silence.

Isaiah felt a branch on his shoulder. He turned--or tried to--to wherever it had come from and was enveloped in the scratchy bare branches. Perhaps in its dying state the tree too did not want to be alone. Maybe it was more human than it gave itself credit for.

And like that, he felt himself disintegrate. It wasn’t painful. He felt himself going, going, going, almost reaching out a hand to stop himself from dissipating in the air. If he could think, he would’ve called out to his body, chased after it, but his thoughts were fading too. He was not strong enough to separate mind from body from water. It was inevitable.

With the tree embracing him, Isaiah closed his eyes and exhaled. He let whatever unknown force take him away. He had given up on imagining whether there was life after death. All that came after was nothing and ether. 

The feeling of absence left a tingling feeling on his cheeks as it spread up his face, climbing up his wide nose and simultaneously descending from his non-existent hairline. In the end, only his eyes were left, to see without seeing, to observe what nothing was that was once something...