At 12:59, I am standing at the intersection of William Street, facing four directions. I can see the clock on the bell tower agrees with my calculation: one minute till 1 o’clock. What exactly would happen then? I do not know. I can feel my heart running faster and faster, pause between my breaths decreases each time as I grasp for air. But I cannot stop. Not until I find out which way I should be going. Frankly, there isn’t much choice to choose from, it’s either North, South, East, or West, but is it really that easy? Each way would lead to a different path, different circumstance, for which I cannot foresee, yet I must make a decision before the bell rings precisely at 1.
It is not until I glimpse at the coffee shop on the corner of the street that I realize the choice has been made. I see a butterfly flying across the table, through the broken window, away to the open sky, and falls to the ground on the filthy walkway. The Earth has been destroyed, for I am the last human alive to see this dilapidated world. Last person in A.D. 2050 to witness the greatness of what human had built. Before the clock strikes thirteen, I will have one last breathe remain. I tell myself, Before the clock strikes thirteen —
