A young man stood at a crossing, staring intently at the traffic light. His tired eyes filled with anger and hatred. His usual ten minute walk was almost quadrupled, due to a new law that caused all traffic lights to have a several minute long intermission between the green and red light. This sentiment was shared by the large group of people surrouding him, yet no one dared to step a foot on the crosswalk. They all knew the risks of getting struck by one of ever affectionatly named "Ghost Cars". Cars that would spiral out of control, but have no one in the drivers seat, or even have anyone registered under the name of the vehicle.
However the haggard-looking, middle-aged man, seemed to have a greater displeasure with the people surrouding him, than the long wait.
Standing at the edge of the crosswalk facing the crowd with his sign made out of cardboard, that had "THE WORLD IS ENDING" written on it, with barely eligible, messy handwriting. He once again begun his bellowing his insults at the crowd:
"You fools!", voice of the agitated man was as pleasant as the sound of metal grinding across a cheese grater.
Luckily Art had heard the familiar ringing, coming from his pocket. At least he could distract himself from the bleak wait and the ever louder, ramblings of a man, who kept repeating himself like a broken record. Quickly fishing the phone out of his pocket, he looked at the caller name that read 'Stephan'. Sighing with relief, he quickly answered his phone:
"Hey man, why are you calling?"
A few seconds have passed, intently listening to his friend he responded in a melancholic tone:
"Sorry man, you know that I am swamped this week with practice."
With a displeased expression he continued:
"I would happily go fencing with you, but we got a match in a week, and I have to dedicate all of my time to practice, so I need time for recovery-."
Without a warning the haggard man walked towards Art. His previously sour expression turned to disgust. Instead of yelling at the crowd, he instead decided to interrupt Art and his conversation directly:
"We are all at the precipice of extinction! And you don't even seem to care? How blind are you to this extinction level event happening right in front of our eyes!"
Before Art could even begun stringing his thoughts together, the man started rambling once again:
"People keep getting erased from existence and we are ignoring it! For all you know you are next, and all you care is some tournament! You-"
Feeling fed up with him, Art's fingers moved almost as if they were enchanted. Hanging up on his friend, and beginning speaking:
"Because you are a part of that self-aggrandizing cult! I keep seeing people like you spewing your strange beliefs! I even had the displeasure of meeting them on my campus! People keep disappearing? Where is the evidence of it? Now get out of my face, and find spew your nonsense somewhere else!"
The facial expression of the haggard man suddenly shifted, it went from disgust to pity. With that the man started to respond to Art:
"Nonsense without any evidence? How about I give you some evidence. Answer me this, why are we currently speaking? Why did this phenomenon of "Ghost Cars" suddenly start? Not a single driver has been found in any of the vehicles. There hasn't been any driver identified under the vehicles name. It is almost as if the drivers vanish in thin air!"
Art could not answer that question. After all how could he know, not even the government knew why this occurred, causing them to make this Band-Aid fix on the problem.
"I know it from personal experience! I remember happy days, but suddenly one day all of it was gone…"
The mans eyes begun to well up with tears:
"I can't explain so many things in my house. Why do I have so many pairs of items? Why do I have a crib? When did I buy and install picture frames with blank images!"
Before the man continued to speak, Art felt ashamed. His outburst brought this man to near tears, so he tried to quickly end the conversation. Interrupting him, Art begun to apologize:
"I am sorry for my outburst, how about I will come back in afternoon and you tell me all about this?
The man looked at him, his facial expression now less tragic. His tone shifting:
"That would be nice."
With that the light finally turned green after what felt like an eternity. Quickly crossing the road, he could finally get to his university in peace.
***
Feeling absolutely exhausted he walked home with a heavy, slow stride. The usually tall, confident young man was gone, his back slouched. His blonde hair was drenched in sweat to the point, that it seemed black. This day was filled with nothing but tiresome training. All classes were cancelled for the day, due to a strange incident, where pipes burst all across the university. Of course, such an incident did not stop their coach from making them stay for the day, and forcing stay. Every fiber of his being screamed out in a dull pain. As a key member of the Rugby team, he at least got a hefty scholarship, so even though he felt like dying, he couldn't really complain.
The pain has dulled his senses to the point that he forgot his promise, until he was only a crosswalk away from him. He could just ignore him, or take a different path, but Art decided not to. Making good on promises was that he found important.
So he begun mentally preparing himself for his inevitable meeting.
Looking across the street, he begun to scan the street, and he saw the familiar silhouette of a man holding a sign.
For a moment his eyes dilated, and he felt himself spacing out. By the time the tedious wait for the green light was over, he noticed something peculiar.
On the ground lay a sign — one of many that he had seen before, It read "THE WORLD IS ENDING" in a barely legible handwriting, the ink was wet from the rain, making it even more unreadable. The owner of the sign was missing, so without paying it too much thought he simply continued to walk, thinking:
'Probably one of those cult members finally understood how ridiculous the whole thing is, so they left it. Could have at least thrown the sign away.'
Walking he heard remembered that he hung up on his friend for no reason. Taking his phone out he begun walking, his pace even slower than it previously was. He dialed his friend. It didn't take too long for Stephan to answer:
"Hey Steph, sorry for hanging up in the morning, I must have spaced out again, and grazed the end call button."
Art spoke to his friend, talking about the grievance he experienced from his coach. When he finally got to the final crosswalk away from his home. Sadly his long conversation with Stephan had to end, since unlike him who could go home and fall on his bed, Stephan was only on a break from his job. Now he had to wait a couple of minutes doing nothing, just to cross the road.
His eyes dialted again, and he yet again spaced out. By the time Art was back to focus, the light turned green, and so he finally brought his foot down.
Except the familiar sensation of asphalt never came, and all of his senses were overwhelmed by an unexplainable change.