She slept as she always did, sidled into him, head on his chest, arm wrapped around his waist, like a child. It kept him up. She breathed evenly, a soft mutter off beat with his heart. The shadows spread heavy in the room, blotting out her face, but roses hung in the air, sinking deep into his nostrils. He had grown indifferent to the smell of roses and the shape of her chin, the roundness of her cheeks, her flower stem wrists, and her beaked nose. The window was dark, another moonless night. He stared out for a long time, letting the minutes roll by, hoping that one would catch and pull him underneath so he could find some sleep. Sleep never came easy, what with her hanging on him, but he feared now that the sky would never catch fire again, that all these moonless nights meant a lightless world was on its way. Her arm hung limp around him, but he pulled her tight for a moment and kissed her forehead. Mumbled syllables dropped out her lips. He tried to pick a few of them up, but they were just fragments of dreams slipping through an open mouth.

The house breathed and he tried to find its source in the walls. Which pipes were expanding, what planks of wood were contracting, what kind of animal would scratch like that, but any answer that came lost importance. The clock read 3:08 am on the nightstand next to the baby monitor. Therese slept in the other room, Monica beside him, and Clare across town at her friend’s house. Only he stared at the ceiling, the walls, trying to see the otherside. He drank some water from the glass beside him. Still cool, he held it in his mouth, swished it around until it felt warm and he no longer wanted to swallow it, but spitting it back into the cup was a bit too ugly an act for him, even at so late or early an hour. He swallowed.

He took the pillow from behind his head and placed it under her arm. Slowly, he scooted out of the bed. She made no notice of the change and he was surprised it worked. Her face still shaded from view, he relied on the sound of her breathing, which he could tap the rhythm to, even unconsciously. It often came to him, her rhythmic breathing, filling the cracks in his day. It used to comfort him, that he could know her so intimately, so intimately that even her organs kept no secrets. The cadence of her heart, too, kept the bassline to his days, marching his steps and his thoughts. He kissed her on the forehead once more and walked out of their room.

He meandered through the dark hallways until he found himself standing over his daughter, watching her sleep. Her arms and legs pumped occasionally, as if crawling through her dreams. Someday, maybe, she’d walk through them or even jump through them. Most nights, he found himself falling through his own. She opened her eyes then and stared back at her father. At this distance in this light, her sight was near blind, but she smiled, and he believed it was for him. He kissed her and whispered, ‘I love you, Therese. Never forget that. Please.’

Walking outside, he pulled his coat tight and did not turn to his home of the last six years. He walked down the unlit street towards town. Each step brought time into focus. Monica and he married eight years before, right out of college. She was twenty four and in love with him, and he told her that he would love her forever. Bought her bouquets, necklaces, a diamond ring, vowed to stay until death. An alternative never entered his mind, even still, walking down the street, there was no alternative to Monica, Clare, and Therese, but he walked anyway. His mind was free of questions but desperate for an answer. Some singular word or phrase that would tie everything together, but what needed tying, he could not say or even think, though he knew that something was missing. Some thing.

Closer to downtown, the streetlights spotted his path, one circle of yellow light followed by another. Storefronts and gas stations glowed, lighting their parking lots or sidewalks spaces. The air was cool and the sewer smell of summer was gone, replaced by changing leaves and wet grass. His steps meandered, but he kept going. There was a destination out there, he just could not see it, could not hear it, but he felt it in his chest, right below his heart. He could not explain it, but it existed and he carried it everywhere.

Light pollution eliminated starlight, but the thought that the stars may have burned out ached in the back of his head. The frequency of earthquakes had increased drastically over the previous six months. Floods, droughts, and fires ravaged the country, maybe the world.

Jerry’s was emptying and the drunks staggered to the curb, hanging on one another, shouting their love of the night. Nothing mattered beyond that instant and whether or not that person was coming home with them or taking their number. The sun did not need to rise for them, not now, maybe not ever. He stopped and watched them pile into cabs and cars. One man, though, stuck behind. Sitting with his back to Jerry’s, he rubbed his hands together, crossed his arms, and tucked his hands in his armpits.

“Rough night?”

The man did not move or even look to him. “Rough life.” He sounded like he ate glass.

“Yeah.” He stood near the drunk man, but the drunk man took no notice.

Maybe too drunk, maybe wholly indifferent, his arms remained crossed and his head stared at his feet.

‘”Do you think the sun’s going to rise tomorrow?”

“Hope not.” The drunk man patted his jacket until he found the right pocket and pulled out a flask and drank.

Time passed in silence, the drunk man uncaring. He leaned his back against the wall next to the drunk.

The drunk finally looked at him. “Gotta cigarette?”

He pulled out a pack and gave him one.

“Gotta light?”

He lit his cigarette. The drunk smoked it to the filter.

“Do you think the end of the world’s coming?”

“Hope so.”

He rubbed his face into his hands. “I’m afraid.”

“Mount St Helen’s blew just last week and the Pacific Northwest is gone. They say Yellowstone’s next. No one knows if Hawaii’s even still afloat or what’s happening in Europe or Asia. All communication’s broken down. I can’t see any stars tonight and the moon’s not been out for almost two weeks and the sun might be turning off, too.”

The drunk made a heaving noise and spat, then coughed. He crossed his arms again, hands in his armpits.

“I’m supposed to go to work tomorrow, but I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept since Tuesday.” He lowered until he was sitting next to the drunk man.

“Day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

The drunk man nodded his head. He pulled out the flask again, took a drag, and handed it towards him.

He looked at the drunk, but he was not looking back. He accepted it and took a small sip. It stung and tasted like insect repellent. Vodka, cheap and hot. He coughed into his hand, tears rimming his eyes. “Thanks.” He handed back the flask.

The drunk took another pull and returned it to his pocket.

“Do you believe in God?”

The drunk spat. “Nope.”

“I don’t think I do either anymore. I try. I go to church and bring my kids. I pray with my wife every night, before meals, before sleep. I teach my kids catechism and bible stories, but I don’t know if I believe any of it. Don’t even know if I ever did. My mother believes, my wife believes, but I never bothered to see if I really believe.”

The drunk man made a retching noise and spat again.

“I think the world’s ending. And now, finally, I’m wondering if God exists, right before Jesus is supposed to come back and the Four Horsemen are meant to burn it all down. What am I supposed to do?” He pulled his knees in and put his chin on them.

“I married my wife eight years ago. Eight years and two kids, and now, I don’t even know if I like her. She’s always been there and I love my daughters. Or, at least I think I do. They’re not even gonna grow up. I made them just to see the end of it all. And Clare, she’s becoming a real person, thinking for herself and getting opinions. Sometimes, when I look at her, I feel nothing. She’s my fucking daughter and sometimes, when I kiss her head or tuck her in, I wonder, ‘Who is this person and why is she here?’”

The drunk handed him the flask again and he sipped and he coughed and he wiped his nose.

“I can’t even hold my wife anymore. She loves me more than anything, and I don’t even like sitting in the same room as her anymore. I tiptoe through my own house, hoping she doesn’t find me. Sometimes I sit on the toilet for an hour. She’ll ask me if I’m okay because she loves me, because she’s concerned. And I lie to her. Everything’s fine, just a bit sick. We haven’t even had sex for two months.”

“Shoelace untied.” The drunk pointed.

He grabbed his laces, pulled them tight, and tried to tie them, but could not. He tried again, but his fingers fumbled with the laces, like they had forgotten how. Tears rimmed his eyes and he wiped them away, sniffling.

“God damn it. I can’t even tie my god damn fucking shoes.” He started crying then, gasping and drooling.

“I don’t know if I love my wife or if God’s real and all I want to do is tie these fucking shoes and I fucking can’t and this is what gets me fucking crying.”

The drunk man put a hand on his shoulder and handed him the flask again.

“Thanks.” He drank from it, a real drink, long and unpleasant. He coughed, nearly retched, and handed it back. Spittle hung from his lips. He wiped it away and examined it on his sleeve.

The drunk man took a long pull.

“God damn it.” He pulled out two cigarettes and handed the drunk man one.

They sat smoking until there was naught left to smoke.

“Do you really want the world to end?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Got nothin worth losin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jack.”

“I’m David.”

Jack nodded.

“How long’ve you been homeless.”

“Ain’t.”

David rubbed his hand through his hair. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

“Yep.” He took another pull from the flask and handed it to David. Even still, he never turned his eyes to David, just left him sitting next to him.

David took another long drink and shook the flask. “It’s almost empty.”

“Yep.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

Jack looked at David with hard eyes, then laughed. His laugh was hoarse and gravelled. He smacked David on the back, still laughing.

“Funny.” He wiped a tear from his eye and pulled out another flask and took another pull and handed it to David.

David laughed, too. More cheap warm vodka, but David was getting used to the burn. “At least you came prepared.”

“Yep. Gotta nother cigarette?”

They smoked David’s last cigarettes and stared at the street. Silence was all around. The bar closed, nothing else open within sight. The city slept.

“Why do you think the world’s falling apart?”

“Just time.”

“But doesn’t that bother you? Don’t you want to keep on living? I mean, what if nothing survives? What if there’s no afterlife or anything?”

“What if nothin.” Jack coughed his retching cough and took another pull.

David leaned his head back against the wall. He held the flask in his hand for a few minutes. “I think I’m leaving today.” He took a pull, staring up into the air.

“Sounds so.”

“I don’t know where I’m going. But I’ve felt this need to move inside me for a long time. You ever get that?”

“Nope.”

”I’m restless. I can’t sleep or eat. Meaning’s slipping from me. God, my wife, my kids, it’s all beyond me, falling from me, and I don’t know if I can fix it or if I even want to try. And now the world’s dying. We could wake up tomorrow to nothing. No sun, no sky, no earth. No nothing.”

“Gotta sleep to wake.”

He looked at Jack. “I guess.”

A car drove by, the first in over an hour. David watched it down the street, the streetlights reflecting on the frame, till it was out of view.

“Are you happy?”

Jack looked at him again and took a pull. “You sure ask a lotta questions.”

“Sorry.” David took a pull and coughed into his arm.

“Don’t give it much thought. What makes me happy, what makes me sad, when I’m either or neither. Same goes for god or love. Don’t matter.”

“How can that not matter, though?”

“Don’t bother me. Neither one thing or nother. Just am. Don’t matter if god’s real. Only whether you believe in him or no.”

“I think I see your point.”

“Ain’t no point to see.”

“How do you think you’re gonna die?”

“Same way you are.”

“You think it’s so soon?”

“Hope so.” He coughed and spat and drank.

David drank and coughed. “You know, I always thought it’d be a disease that wiped us out and put the earth back to equilibrium. Without humans, the earth’d be a pretty nice place again. Animals and ecosystems’d thrive again. All these cities and monuments’d turn to dust, just like the way the mountains’re crumbling. Just like the deserts are getting bigger and the oceans deeper. Because the world doesn’t need us. We just need it, so I always figured it’d just wipe us out, but keep on spinning. But now, now the world seems set to crumble to bits until there’s nothing left for anything. Our solar system’s washing out. But what’s to be done? Not shit. So what do I do? I leave my wife and my kids to go find whatever it is I think I need to find.” He paused and rubbed his eyes. “Ever believe there’s something out there for you that’ll just fix everything in your life?”

“Nope.”

“I guess it’s too late to fix it. What with the universe in the state it’s in. A colossus brought to its knees, cut to pieces. But I need to go.”

“Yep.”

They drank again, coughed again, and sat in silence again.

“She’ll die without me. She’s always been like that, depending on me, hanging on me. And I’ve held her up all these years that I’ve known her. She’s just not made for being alone, but she’s got the kids. I’ll miss Therese the most, I think. She’s my baby, can’t even speak yet, but she’s everything to me. Clare was like that, too. Now, though, she’s her own person and I don’t know her. Maybe I never did. She was just whatever I wanted her to be. That’s the problem with people. You never really know any of them. Maybe not even yourself. Family. Just a bunch of strangers together, sharing space and time, but nothing else.”

Jack spat. “Set on leaving, then?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Jack nodded. They finished the flask without speaking.

The streetlights turned off.

David straightened. “That means it’s morning.”

“Spose it does.”

“It’s still dark.” His fists were clenched and he shook.

“Yep.”

“Think it’ll rise?”

“Hope not.”

David stood up, staggered, and leaned on the wall. “I’m drunk.”

“Shoe’s untied.”

David looked at his shoe but left it alone. “No one’s out yet.”

“Yep.”

“What now?”

“Could get on goin wherever you’re goin.”

“Yeah.” David staggered a few steps away. He looked back. “Maybe the sun’ll shine somewhere.”

“Good luck.”