It didn’t matter anymore.
That shipment of designer-label makeup and brushes Maggie saved and saved for, finally sitting in its box on her porch.
Those Mike sneakers Joe wasted his entire paycheck on.
The brand-new, glistening, powerful Lawn Steere tractor (and attachments) Lori drove home from the shop just yesterday. Parked in the outbuilding of her late grandfather’s estate.
Steve’s collection of bottle caps.
Ada’s books. Oh, how she loved books.
Even Clair’s six pack of beer, alone on the dusty counter.
None of that mattered, anymore, as Maggie, Joe, Lori, Steve, Ada, Clair, and every sentient being watched-heard-felt-breathed Methuselah’s Comet break through the atmosphere. And silence all of Earth.
©2021 Chel Owens