THE WORLD IS ENDING

A month from now, the world will end.

Short enough that I'm panicking about it but long enough I convince myself it wouldn't be the end of the world if I allowed myself to freak out about it. Just for tonight. I don't know how I know what I know. But I know it.

I KNOW it.

I feel it so strongly in my bones. That everything I know and everything I love will just be gone. I simultaneously feel too hot in my clothes and too cold in the room. My nails are digging into my palms when I squeeze my hands into fists. I'm self-aware enough to recognize what I'm feeling as terror... or dread? Or maybe it's anxiety??

Maybe I don't know what I'm feeling. All I know is that I don't want to feel this anymore. All I know is that I need a drink.

The next morning, my release from the other night is coming back to bite me in the form of a pounding headache. I groan into the bedsheets and try to smother myself in them. When was the last time I'd washed them?? This can't be hygienic. I'm becoming more aware of the emptiness I feel in my stomach the more lucid I become but I don't want to get out of bed. As gross of a state it might be in right now, I need the comfort of my blanket over me and the plush of my pillows. Or maybe what it used to have. I remember them being fluffier. Probably doesn't help that I haven't fluffed them in a while either. Eventually, my stomach's demanding gets loud enough that it convinces me to climb out of bed, knocking bottles over while I make my way to my kitchen. There's not much to eat but what is there, raw eggs, rice, and a container of baby spinach. I really don't have the energy to cook, even after sleeping in a good amount this morning. I rummage through my pantry and fridge a second time. This time I find a half empty bag of chips, sour cream and onion flavored. Really wouldn't make the best breakfast but I quickly empty the bag right into my mouth anyways. They're gone as quickly as I'd found them. The creamy taste of them lingers in my mouth and I feel like it's taunting me. My eyes land on the pots and pans on the stove and I look back at the lonely sack at the bottom of the pantry.

"Rice is easy to make," I say, almost startled by the hoarse sound of my voice while I measure out one cup of rice to put in my smallest pot. Since I need to add water anyway, I pour myself a glass of water and I find myself surprised again at how the sore dry feeling in my throat dissapates. Not completely mind you, and the second and third swigs aren't as refreshing as the first but.. it helps.

Watching the rice boil in the pot felt so monotonous. I guess it wouldn't be that much harder to fry an egg while the rice cooks. I remember I used to struggle at lot at first trying to break the eggs in a way so I wouldn't get any shell onto the good stuff. This time however, it came naturally. I brought the egg down on the edge of the pan with force similar to swatting away a fly and I parted the egg so the goop could start sizzling on the pan. I was so amazed that I brought out another eggs so I could crack it again. Eggs and rice, this is almost starting to look a little healthy.

Still, most of the cooking process involved a lot of waiting around. Though, watching the egg whites gain their opacity, it didn't feel like the drag I was anticipating.

I poured my portion of rice and eggs into my little blue bowl, topping off my creation with a handful of spinach. Thank god it was pre-washed because I did not feel like going through the ordeal of washing it myself. But with how the morning was going, maybe it wouldn't have been as much of an issue as I first thought.

The meal was about as bland as you'd expect, I only had salt to season and I only added a pinch to my rice and eggs altogether. But it still felt like the best meal I've had in a while. I can even manage to bring everything to the sink to wash the dishes. Even the dishes I hadn't dirtied myself I figured I would scrub. There was a pleasant rhythm to scrubbing and rinsing, one where I could just think for a moment while I kept my hands busy.

I thought of the end of the world finally. It seemed less certain now. My stomach still felt queasy at the thought but, I felt able to fight off the urge to avoid the unpleasant feeling. I think of the pile of dishes that I'd also been avoiding even looking at the last few days. Here I am, setting them down on the drying rack one by one. The sink is almost empty now apart from the forks and spoons hidden in the soapy water. I hate washing the utensils. Maybe I can ask my roomate for help? I glance at the cooked rice still in the pot, enough for another portion.

I look down at the new bowl of rice, eggs, and spinach in my hands, thing time the eggs seasoned with paprika I found in the pantry. I took a deep breath and knocked on my roomate's bedroom door.

Alan Rodriguez is a first-generation Mexican American immigrant from Chicago. When he isn’t reading or writing stories, he’s enjoying music or spending time with loved ones. Follow him on Instagram at @currentlyscreetching.