Image by Vanessa Dean

I finally told Allison I loved her yesterday after they told us the world was going to end. I meant it. She told me she loved me too, but I think she just told me that because they told us the world was going to end. She hesitated a second too long between the syllables. I don’t really mind though.

I’m with her and Matt and this young girl from the diner on I-99 and we’re cruising as the sun sets, sweat seeping out our pores, music blaring. The young girl won’t tell us her name for some reason. She says it doesn’t matter. Matt calls her Clover because of this little tattoo on the back of her neck that he saw when she leaned over to take off her shoes. She seems to like it. I don’t really see a point in calling her anything, but I can see why he might. It’s sad and cute to watch. He’s lost everything before it’s even started. We all have. I hear them talking in the back and it seems like they have a lot in common, but soon they just stop, I think, because they realise it’s too late to start anything and to do anything else is just to kid themselves.

We drive until the sky is the colour of a blood orange and it gets hard to see. We’re running out of gas anyway. I pull over at the top of a cliff where we can’t quite see the highway anymore, and it really feels like we’re all alone now. We crank down the top and I pull off my shirt and Matt and the girl from the diner start talking again. He whispers something in her ear and her blush compliments the sky. Allison won’t say anything to me now, but I catch her eye and she puts her hand on top of mine as she tries to smile. I turn off the music and we listen to the wind. I wonder how long the sunset will last and if we’ll ever get to see another one.

We sit there for a few more minutes in silence before Matt and the girl from the diner decide they’re going to go for a walk. I’m pretty sure they’re going off to fuck in the tall grass and we might never see them again. Matt leaves a bottle of Absinthe and eight grams of top-grade marijuana with us, so it’s all right. I think he mutters something to me when he gets out and I ask what it is, but he doesn’t repeat himself, and they wander off together.

It’s just me and her now.

When Matt and the girl from the diner have been gone for a little while, we roll a massive blunt and pass it back and forth. She starts it off with a massive hit and has a coughing fit. She laughs though, and I do too. I get so high, I swear I can hear her heartbeat as it quickens. It matches up with mine. I want to feel her pulse to see if it’s true, but I can’t bring myself to ask. Instead, I ask her what she’s going to miss.

Clouds, she says. Dreams. Sunlight. Catchy music and long, lazy afternoons. She says she didn’t think she’d miss anything, but she guesses that’s not true now. She says she doesn’t think she’ll miss the people though. She thinks they’re all sort of the same in the end. All sort of disappointing in their own ways. I try to disagree with her, but I guess I can’t. I tell her I have a few people I’ll miss, but mostly I’ll just miss this. The moment. I tell her I wish we’d had more moments like this, but I’m not sure she really agrees, even though she says she does. She kisses me because she thinks it’s the right thing to do. I love her more for it.

I barely have to convince her to let me fuck her, and we do it, clumsily, in the back of the car. The sky is black now. I’m starting to lose my buzz when I realise she’s crying. I stop fucking her and she tells me that Matt doesn’t actually believe in any of this. That it’s just some hoax. That we’re going to laugh about this in a week or so over a pitcher of cheap beer. I tell her he doesn’t really think that it’s a hoax; he just wants it to be. This seems to comfort her. She tells me she’s secretly happy it’s going to be over soon, and I tell her I agree. I mean it.

I think it would be beautiful if it ended like this.


Alanna Belak originally from Calgary, is a recent writing graduate from Vancouver Film School. She has written or co-written several produced short films. She is currently based in London working as a freelance photographer.

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One Comment

  1. Sorin Atanasiu

    It conveys a lot of peace. I’ve got the feeling it’s Salinger somewhere. Which is not bad. A cold witness of an end. Slightly indifferent. But sexy and spiritual.


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