The End Is Nigh

It was a dismal, wet day in early October, and a million students were trudging to lectures. Simon Swott opened the door of his room in Colditz Hall, walked down the neon-lit corridor to the lift and pressed the button. No response. He was jabbing his thumb repeatedly at the button when a door swung silently open at the end of the corridor, wafting out a thick cocktail of stale pizza and sweaty socks.

After a while, Simon Swott realised that a thought was trying to make its way through the morning fog in his head, and he stopped jabbing the button. He was being watched. The atmosphere was taut with tension. Simon turned his head slowly to look at the open door.

Standing there was a black-robed figure holding a gnarled staff, the hood of the robe hiding the figure’s face.

“The lift ain’t working,” stuttered Simon, “and what have you done with my mate Robby, why are you in his room?”

The sinister figure was silent for a minute; although his face wasn’t visible, he seemed taken aback. Eventually he intoned in a hollow voice:

“Your friend is currently comatose in the lavatory. I believe he imbibed too much liquid of an alcoholic nature last night.”
“To answer the question of the lift, it is no longer working because the world is about to end, and material trivialities such a lifts are deemed unnecessary.”

Simon, head still turned, appeared to think long and hard about what he’d just been told. Then he said:

“But I’ve got a lecture at nine.”

“I don’t think you quite understand. Lectures are of no importance anymore. The world is ending, and you are the Chosen One, We are to take you with us to the Higher Realms.”

Simon Swott’s brain seemed to be struggling slightly. It was much too early in the morning for all these revelations.

“I know my biology essay was late, but this is a bit harsh!” he whined.

The black robe was becoming distinctly irritated. The bony fingers holding the staff were clenched.

“You are the Chosen One. You must come with us.” The staff was shaking.

“But why me?” Simon wailed, “I’ve got so much to live for!”

A muffled snigger came from the hood.

“You are considered representative of the human race. We wish to preserve you so that we can recreate humanity at a later date. We recently discovered that some mistakes had been made during the planning stage, so we’re starting again.”

Just as Simon opened his mouth to whine again, the black robe raised the staff. The lift, Colditz Hall and the rest of the world slowly imploded, until it was nothing more than a speck of dust floating aimlessly in space.