Mara sat and stared out to sea. The huge red sun was setting on this dying world. The barren landscape behind her was parched and dry. She dipped her face into the water but it was not refreshing. Nothing ever was now. The breeze swept back her limp hair; its warmth only made her sweat more. Mara’s small sister was wandering over the sand towards her.

“Come home? Mar-Mar come home?” she asked. Mara sighed but stood stiffly to her feet. They would all be there. Sitting, sewing, fixing. But waiting, always waiting. Children wandered aimlessly through the streets; they knew it was coming. They didn’t know what, but they knew something had to. Babies wailed plaintively while zombie-like mothers rocked them rhythmically. Old Mrs Crabbe next door muttered vaguely of the ‘apocalypse’ when she spoke at all. No-one could say what that was, but ‘Old Crabby’ was the oldest in the village so it could be anything. Everyone was fading. Mara spent more and more time on her own; she couldn’t bear to watch what ‘The End’ was doing to her family and friends. Her mother had been a friendly, laughing woman, but now she had disappeared into herself, wouldn’t talk to anyone, just sat, staring.

  As Mara and Callie walked back Mara looked towards the ruins of the old village. It had been abandoned centuries ago when the sea came too close. It was completely submerged now, all except for the church; you could only see the roof and the steeple but Mara thought its beauty was riveting. It was stained blood red by the last of the sun’s rays and its reflection bounced off the pond-like sea around it. The calm before the storm. Bundle, their dog, padded slowly towards them and buried his head into her hand. They had reached the village. The long, low shadows stretched across the earth. An old man sat outside his shack smoking nostalgically. A boy sat drawing in the dirt. This was a ghost town. They were already dead.

  Mara entered her living room and collapsed onto the sofa. She seemed drained of energy these days. Callie curled up on her lap sucking her thumb and laid her head on Mara’s shoulder. They had become closer during the past few weeks, spending much of their time together. Mara’s grandmother sat in her rocker by the fire, though it wasn’t lit. It was too hot. Fireplaces were purely decorative but Mara could remember a time when she was young, when they would light the fire and sit around it, talking long into the night. The laughter would echo around their small house and the only sorrow would be the cries of Callie from her crib in the other room. Her mother would fetch her through and Callie would be passed round the room, admired from every angle by her adoring relatives. Mara, sitting in the corner would sometimes feel left out, shoved ruthlessly out of the spotlight by her baby sister, but her Grandfather would always pull her onto his knee and find some way to include her in the general festivities. That all ended when he died.

That had been the beginning of the disintegration of the village. He had been there all his life; the Brownlow family stretched back through the centuries. Distantly, everyone was related to them, and their house was set in the heart of the village, next to the hall. Years ago, when there was still life around, the house would be full from dawn until dusk. They had a huge window in the kitchen at the front of the house that would be open day and night for people to look in and chat if they were passing. That had been smashed in the storm last year and had been boarded up ever since.

  Her grandfather was buried out the back, under his willow tree where he had sat. It was old, older than any person Mara knew. She had used to visit it, sit there talking to him, but she couldn’t face him any more. She didn’t want him to know, wherever he was, what had become of them all. They had all been mourning from the moment he had gone, but he couldn’t know. He couldn’t know they had died with him.

  Mara stared out the window and could see the horizon in the distance. The very last rays of sun were fading away and every head turned towards the dying light, drinking it in. Darkness slowly fell and they sat. Sat and waited. Mara smiled sadly at her mother in the gathering gloom. The blackness, more complete than any other they had ever witnessed, engulfed the room and them. The Brownlow family, the World, sat back, contented, and closed their eyes on the last day.