The Sunset Glowed A Blinding Red

a very short, short story

Photo by Joshua Newton on Unsplash

From the hill the sunset glowed a blinding red. It was beautiful, really, the vibrant hued light bathing the undulating landscape, so beautiful you could almost forget the world was ending, almost. Below the sunset glow transformed into the flickers of flame as the fire spread, inching ever closer to the hillside. Vermilion and burnt umber licked the sky as dusk settled over the valley. 

Off in the distance she could hear the low roar of the flame. 

It had been six hundred days, six hundred days since the world had begun to end. Six hundred days since she’d left everything behind for front row seats to earth's grand finale.

Sitting on the hood of her car, the rust rubbing stains into her jeans she thought how strange it was that she was probably the only person in a 2000 mile radius. 

As far as she knew the rest of the earth lay huddled in bunkers scattered across the country, waiting out whatever would happen next. But what fun was there in that? Hiding like mice from their own mistakes? She laughed, she would rather watch the world burn and laugh at her own folly than run from it. 

Maybe that was it, maybe she was starting to crack. They say isolation can do that to you, drive you mad, taunt you with things that aren’t real, things that don’t make sense. But had she ever really been sane? Had anyone for that matter? At one time she had thought they were, but would it have come to this if they were. 

The wind shifted blowing smoke into her face. 

“Time to go,” she whispered. 

She put out the small fire she had made, not that it mattered now, and threw whatever few things she had taken out back into the truck and hopped into the driver's seat. Key in the ignition the engine turned over and the car rumbled to life. She took one more look through the window. The first machine had come into view, its long steel limbs shaking the ground beneath it. They always followed the fire.