Requiescat in Pace. (150 words)

Tamara wanted to run, but she couldn’t move.

Lying on her driveway, she stared upward at a massive asteroid hurtling toward her. Doom’s herald. Though miles away, the fireball was still the size of a basketball. No, a beach ball. A small moon.

An endless roar filled her ears. The air rippled with heat and roiled with necrotic smoke. Beneath her, the planet quivered with anticipation.

In the distance, countless pieces of heaven pinpricked the sky, turning it more orange than blue. A cloud of fire and smoke swept toward her like a thunderstorm.

Then, the asteroid struck.

Every nearby window shattered in supplication. Their shards sang the planet's Da Capo al Fine as they plinked against sidewalks and driveways—just as Tamara had foreseen.

The sky was falling. She had told them it would.

But nobody had believed her. No one had listened.

Maybe it was better that way.

Copyright © 2016 by W. C. Markarian

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