The End of the World


He stood transfixed, the radio news reverberating around his head. Nuclear war had broken out in the Middle East and the inevitable had come to pass: everyone was firing their nukes off at everyone else and good old Blighty, which was on the side of freedom AKA The United States, was in the firing line and now everyone had two minutes to take cover.

And then die painfully and slowly as various things went wrong with the air, the light, the water.

He recalled anti-nuclear films shown in his youth recollecting past gone days of fear and awe. Now that chicken was coming home to roost. The newsreader added that Britain no longer had a nuclear response available due to budget cuts in the armed forces.

Oh well, at least we go out holding the moral high ground.

He was conscious of a warmth in his groin. He looked down at the darkening patch on his chinos and realised he’d wet himself. Christ, I didn’t think that happened until you were dead.

Christ? Was this the time to get religious? Was this the second coming? Flashbacks of a TV drama with Christopher Eccleston. He better not be a Manchester City supporter.

‘Hey Dad.’ The little voice of his son interrupted everything, nothing.

‘Hey Dad, what’s up? Have you wet yourself?’ Giggling laughter followed.

‘I er splashed water when I was washing up.’

‘Ha, ha, it looks like you wet yourself.’

The beauty of youth.

Then the light and noise exploded.


© Mark Davoren 2017

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