Of Stars and Death
They discovered the sun's habits quite by accident. Within decades, they'd decided the precise instant of its death and felt secure in the fact that they would not be around when it happened. Unfortunately, this was not the case.
ΩΩΩ
Death always came too late.
He was the sort of person that set his watch seven minutes ahead but never kept his appointments. He'd stand near the tracks long after his train had left and wonder at the laziness of conductors these days. He was harried, but never so much so that he couldn't stop for coffee.
People courted Death, but he was absent-minded. When he turned to attend to these rituals, the moment had passed.
There were times when folk wished they hadn't ever done anything wrong. Mostly, it was every sort of person at any sort of age. A toddler, an old woman.
He was never on time. He could never quite save them from doing anything harmful.
On very good days, he could save other creatures. He was having more and more of these days as numerous species fell haphazardly onto the growing list of extinctions. Some of them landed crookedly and he had to go dust up the edges a bit, but all in all it was a good day's work.
Certainly, the news programmes lamented the newest dearth. They found man's artificial, disgusting hand to be responsible. A hand made of steel and coal and godlike influence. He found it quaint, this notion of artificiality. Man against everything gentle and natural.
Was this is the only species that saw itself as repulsive? No matter. Dark Columbian coffee and a cane with a brass rose on the end to support his back and he was off again.
ΩΩΩ
There were anomalies. Suns blinking out unexpectedly in distant places; sometimes turning blue and small like a frightened infant. It didn't seem to matter. It would be explained in due time.
But suddenly the purported billion years became a few minutes.
A surprise visit from a giant engulfed the quaint planet with its milling many in white heat--all of the local planets, be they dust or ice. One, that was green in a patchy sort of way, found an odd sort of peace.
ΩΩΩ
Dressed in a smart pinstripe vest, he fixed the tongues of both suede shoes. His rose throbbed and turned silver, melting into a bleak left hand. Earth ghosted away in the tendrils of its bloated mother star. She was white and gold—glorious and huge with the bodies of her children.
Death was always late. But when he came, he made one hell of an entrance.
