Fireside Apocalypse

At the end of the world, the only remaining light is a fire. The fire sits in a fireplace, which sits in the living room of a cabin. You are in the living room, alone. When the fire dies, so will you. There are five logs remaining. [[Reflect]] [[Regret]] [[Remember]]

What is the 'end of the world', really? After all, just because there is no more light doesn't mean everything ceases to exist. Is the world ending because you will no longer be in it? Did you think to look around and see if anybody else made it this far? Maybe they have fires of their own somewhere, which they feed as they ponder the same questions you do. You throw another log onto the fire. You have four logs left. [[People]] [[Light]] [[Silence]]

You should have gathered more wood. Before the sun died and everything grew cold, you should have prepared yourself properly. At the very least, you should have found somebody else to share the cabin with you, to ease the aching chill of isolation. Why didn't you? You knew this day was coming. You didn't like to think about it, but you knew. Why would you doom yourself like this? You throw another log on the fire. You have four logs left. [[People]] [[Light]] [[Silence]]

You remember green leaves and blue skies. You remember a grey pond, with ducks paddling across its mirrored surface. You remember faces, although you can't quite remember names. Kind faces, warm embraces, people you loved and were loved by. What happened to them, you wonder? That part, at least, you seem to have forgotten. You throw another log on the fire. You have four logs left. [[People]] [[Light]] [[Silence]]

You screw your eyes shut and think. Why can't you remember the names of the people you loved? And why can't you remember where they are now? The answer is obvious, although you don't want to face it. You pushed them away. You locked yourself up to avoid the pain, but they wouldn't leave you alone. So you hid until they left, until they assumed you had withered and died in your voluntary tomb. You throw another log on the fire. You have three logs left. [[Pain]] [[Fear]] [[Hatred]]

The light of the fire is blinding, but only in contrast to the darkness outside. The sun is gone now, and so are the stars. Can you remember where they went? Do you remember how they all vanished one by one, like some dark cosmic hand was casually snuffing them out? The electric lights took a bit longer to go out. But when they went, it was all at once. You can't be sure, but you think you heard screaming. You put another log on the fire. You have three logs left. [[Pain]] [[Fear]] [[Hatred]]

The crackling of the fire is the only sound in the cabin, apart from your ragged breathing. There used to be wind, even after the light vanished. But wind needs things to keep it moving: heat, light, motion. None of those things exist out there. Not anymore. Your mind sometimes fills the silence with growls and shrill cries, the footsteps of strange and unknowable beasts. It's all illusion, of course. Nothing can live outside the wooden walls of your universe. You put another log on the fire. You have three logs left. [[Pain]] [[Fear]] [[Hatred]]

Everything hurts. Not just your body, but your mind as well. The cold is biting, and regret gnaws at what's left of your sanity. And yet, there was pain then, too. Before the sun died, there was pain. Every time you shook the hand of a stranger, whenever you went to the store to buy groceries. Sharp, stabbing needles slicing your psyche to shreds. Being watched, being judged, weighed, found wanting. The torture of scrutiny. The torture of fire. You throw a log onto the fire. You have two logs left. [[Fire]] [[Frost]]

You're scared. Of course you are. Scared of the encroaching dark. Scared of the cold. Scared of what will happen when the last embers finally flicker out. But then... there was fear before the sun died. Powerful fear, every day of your life. Fear of the people around you. Fear of being watched, fear of being rejected, fear of being included. And try as you might, it was a fear that could never be escaped. Always it hounded you, like some relentless predator following the scent of blood. Your blood. You throw a log onto the fire. You have two logs left. [[Fire]] [[Frost]]

You hate yourself. It's a powerful feeling, more capable of boiling your blood than the pitiful sparks that crackle away in the fireplace. Even after the sun died and the night reigned supreme, that facet of yourself hasn't changed. You remember the shame of inadequacy as a child, of watching your peers breeze through tasks you could barely manage to complete. You remember shame becoming anger, and anger becoming rage. Not at the world or those you envied so, but at yourself. Always yourself. You throw a log onto the fire. You have two logs left. [[Fire]] [[Frost]]

Burning, searing light. Always watching, the thousand eyes of heaven charring your skin and boiling your soul to vapor. The warmth of humanity was like an oven to you, roasting you to perfection before the final feast. You plugged your ears, locked your doors, drew your curtains and sealed yourself away, but it wasn't enough. The light always found a way in! Always! The heat was suffocating, the inane chatter of the unsolicited strangers enough to unwind your very sanity. And so you made a wish. A single wish, uttered with every fiber of your being. You add another log to the fire. You have one log left. [[Wish]]

The light, the fire, the eyes of the world, they chased you until you could run no further. You wrapped yourself in shadow, in the cold everwinter of night. A place free from the searing pain of the sun above, from the watchers that never rested. And yet, it was never enough. The light seeped in through the cracks in the door, undid the latches on your curtained windows. Every particle of light, every sunbeam was like a bullet to you. And so you wished for something, harder than you've ever wished in your life. Wished, and hoped the watchers would be merciful. You throw a log onto the fire. You have one log left. [[Wish]]

"Make it go away. Get rid of it all. The sun, the stars, the people, all of it. I don't want it anymore! All it does is hurt me. I can feel them watching me even now. They think I'm a failure. They're right. In fact, I'll bet I hate myself almost as much as they hate me. Please, all I want is to be left alone. I want this chaos in my mind, this tempest of anxiety and fear and pain to be stilled! I WANT EVERYTHING TO GO AWAY." You have no more logs. [[Freeze]]

You curl up into a ball as the last flickering tongues of fire begin to vanish. The cold seeps into your bones, into your lungs, settles onto your skin like a blanket of ice. You got your wish, in the end. Eternal nothingness. A void to call your own. And yet, the pain never stopped. The fear, the hatred, all of it remained with you until the very last moment. It should have been obvious, really. Because the fear never came from them. It wasn't their minds it called home. The fire dies. Minutes later, you die with it.