“The world will end at 5:52 p.m.,” the television newscaster announced solemnly.

     As he monitored the noon broadcast from his living room sofa, Theo Simpkins relayed the grim message through a mouthful of potato chips.  “You hear that, honey?  End of the world coming up.”

     Marge Simpkins shut off her vacuum cleaner.

     “Can't hear a word you're saying.”

     Theo adjusted the volume with his remote control.  “The world's gonna end at 5:52.  It was just on the news.”

     “Oh.”  Marge changed adaptors on the canister's hose.

     “You hear me,” Theo snapped.  “You just don't listen. The world ends this afternoon, Marge.  Can you grasp that?”

     “I have four more rooms to clean and you bother me with current events.  For Christ's sake, Theo, I haven't got all day.”

     “Sorry. I figured you'd be interested in the end of the world.”

     Marge handed Theo his beer bottle and wiped the ring it had left on the coffee table.  “What do they mean by the end of the world?  A nuclear holocaust?  The Greenhouse Effect?  A supernova?”

     “I dunno.”  Theo rubbed his head as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of what he'd heard.  “Complete obliteration, I guess. Does it matter?”

     Marge checked her imperfect figure in a wall mirror.  “I need to know what to wear.”

     “If it's the end of the world, Marge, nobody's gonna give a mule's old hind leg what you wear.”

     “I'll give you a mule's hind leg.  All right?  The neighbors will probably come over.  We should look presentable.  The end of the world will come only once.”

     Theo groaned as he struggled to his feet.  He paced and fretted.  “It's over.  I'm finished.  The books I intended to read, the places I wanted to see—I'll never get around to any of it.  I can't even fantasize any more.  What's the point?”

     The phone rang.  Marge cheerfully answered it.  She cupped her hand over the receiver.  “What did I tell you?” she whispered to Theo.  “It's the Doltons from next door.”  She resumed her end of the conversation.  “Yes, Harriet, we heard it on the news.  So tragic.  Don't you think?---No, we won't be doing anything special. ----Don't bother.  Just bring yourselves.”  She hung up.  “I'm glad I started tidying up when I did.  The Doltons are dropping by.”

     “Damn it, Marge,” Theo snarled.  “I don't want company at a time like this.  I'm not in the mood.”

     “Wear your gray slacks and plaid shirt,” Marge instructed him as she put the vacuum cleaner into a closet.  “And don't be such a grump.”

     At 1:17 p.m. the Simpkins served the Doltons lunch on the lanai.  Bud and Harriet initiated the conversation with updates on their favorite topics: the mileage they were getting from their new sedan, their five-year-old grandson's cute observations about life, bargains they'd found at a home improvement store's “close-out” sale.  As usual, Harriet assumed the lead as narrator and Bud rudely interrupted to make corrections and editorial remarks.  Marge laughed and responded on cue while Theo became distracted by thoughts of the day's forecast.

     “What's wrong, Theo?” Bud eventually asked.  “You're acting as if it's the end of the world.”

     Theo stood and angrily kicked his lawn chair out from under himself.  “It is!  Hasn't that seeped through to you?  In four hours, we can kiss it goodbye!”

     “That's taking the news rather hard,” Marge interrupted, glancing apologetically at her friends.  Harriet smiled sympathetically.

     “We understand.  Maybe Theo will feel better if we talk about it.  I heard on TODAY this morning that the Universe is expanding.  Maybe that has something to do with it.”

     Her husband groaned.  “You've got it all wrong—again, the Universe is contracting.”

     “No, it's expanding,” Harriet insisted.  “So, it must not be the end of the world but the end of the Universe.”

     “That's interesting,” Marge commented.  “Isn't it, Theo?”

     “Yeah,” Theo grumbled as he returned to his seat.  “Now I can die an enlightened man.”

     Marge passed a tray of crackers and processed cheese slices to the Doltons.  “Please, eat up.”

     “You've gone to too much trouble, Marge,” Harriet protested as she helped herself to the after-dinner snacks.  “Lunch was wonderful.”

     “Just some leftovers I warmed up on the stove,” Marge scoffed.  “I've got a refrigerator full of food, dear.  Might as well use it or it'll go to waste.”

      At 3:26 p.m., the Simpkins and the Doltons went for a drive.

     Schools, banks and stores were closed.  Suicide victims cluttered the sidewalks.  Outside the Catholic Church, parishoners waited around the block to give their last confessions.  On street corners, prophets wore smug grins and waved placards stating “I told you so.”

     “This is depressing,” Bud said.

     “Let's do something to cheer us up,” Marge suggested.  “Get ice cream.  Rent tandem bicycles in the park.”

     “Loot the mail,” Harriet joked.  “I bet a lot of people are doing it.”

     “This is the end of our lives,” Theo chastised them.  “We should do something meaningful.”

     Harriet noticed Theo turning onto the coastal highway.  “Like contemplate the sunset?”

     “No sunset today,” Theo reminded them.  “No more sunsets ever.”

     “Ah, that's a shame,” Marge moaned.  “I liked sunsets.”

     “We could do a good deed,” Harriet chirped.

     “Theo and I prefer to pay people to do that for us,” Marge said.  “We've got a foster grand-daughter in Botswanaland, I think.  We get a mimeographed letter from her on holidays.  Without our ten dollars a month, she'd die of rickets or something. I felt so sorry for her once, given that she's starving and all, I sent her a batch of my special jelly-bean brownies.”

     “How sweet,” Harriet said.

     “Yeah,” Theo said.  “Marge is a regular Albert Schweitzer.”

     At 4:42 p.m., they noticed a hand-painted sign advertising a scenic overlook with an exceptional view of the end of the world.  Theo handed a teenaged attendant a dollar and fell into a long line of motorists searching for parking places in a pasture.  From there, the Simpkins and the Doltons climbed a rocky bluff, where several hundred families had congregated to observe the ocean and await their fate.

     “Why do they charge a buck for parking if they can't be around to spend it?” Theo grumbled.

     “Overhead, I guess,” Marge said as she donned her sunglasses and dabbed tanning lotion on her nose.  “Besides, now's not the time to be frugal.  Might as well spend our money.  You think they sell souvenir T-shirts?”

     “Saying what? ‘I witnessed the End of the World'?  Some exclusive.”

     “Don't be such a party pooper, Theo.  Get into the spirit of things.”

     “I am.  I'm fatalistic.  I accept the fact that, moments from now, we'll all be blasted into oblivion.  I wish I were a dumb animal.  At least I would not understand what's happening.”

     “Well, I don't understand what's happening,” Harriet admitted as the foursome claimed seating arrangements on a patch of grass.  “Are we going to blow up or what?”

     “I don't understand either,” Marge laughed.  “My horoscope today said I should consider making long-term investments.”

     A young man with rolled-up sleeves and a crucifix necklace intruded.  He handed the couples several pamphlets.  “Pardon me for asking, but have you made your peace?  If you have faith you need not be afraid.  This is a happy day.”

     Theo crammed his brochure back into the young man's slender fingers.  “I'm ecstatic already.  So, buzz off.”

     Marge diplomatically intervened.  “We already believe in God.  But thank you for asking.”

     “This is exciting,” Harriet said as the young man tried to recruit another group of souls.  “Maybe we will meet God today.  Who'd have thought I'd ever see such a thing?  Isn't this a wonderful time to be alive?”

     “Now, Harriet,” Bud said condescendingly.  “Don't get your hopes up.”

     At 5:23 p.m., a quartet of folk singers entertained the crowd with a rendition of “Turn, Turn, Turn”.

     “Have you considered the possibility that what actually awaits us is nothing?” Theo asked his wife and friends.  “Emptiness.  A void.  You and I and the planet will cease to exist.  Or worse: do you think God will be pleased with the four of us based on our understanding of the world of horoscopes, television, half-price sales and subscription charities?  For one second, has any of us tried to comprehend what life is and how we figure into it?”

     Marge and the Boltons exchanged blank expressions.  Bud patted his neighbor on the shoulder.  “You worry too much, Theo.  If something is wrong with the world, I'm sure the scientists and the government are working right now to fix it.  And if the world does end, then we'll just have to sit tight until somebody in charge tells us what to do.  You're not going to solve anything by creating a panic.”

     At 5:51 p.m., the crowd commenced a countdown. 59, 58…

     “I guess this is it,” Harriet said before kissing the Simpkins.

     46, 45, 44, 43…

     “You take care now,” Marge advised the Boltons as she hugged them.

     39, 38, 37…

     “Been great knowing you, sport,” Bud told Theo as they shook hands.

     “Same here, guy.”

     20, 19, 18…

     The Simpkins firmly clasped hands.  They closed their eyes in anticipation.

     “This is gonna hurt like hell, I just know it,” Theo lamented.  “After sixty years, this is what my life comes to.  I'm just another piece of cosmic shrapnel.  What does it mean, Marge?”

     “I don't know, Theo.”

     4,3,2,1…

     The earth rumbled beneath them.  A deafening sound reverberated within them.  The light of a thousand suns seared through all of them.  In a sudden climactic burst the Simpkins found themselves suspended in darkness and silence.

     “Merciful heavens!” Marge gasped.  “I just remembered!”

     Theo sensed her presence nearby as he drifted into an eternal void.  “What, Marge?  You know something.  What?”

     “Oh, Theo.  It's too late.  You're going to kill me.”

     “For heavens' sake, Marge, you're dead already.  Tell me now, before we're separated.”

     “How could I have been so thoughtless?  Please forgive me.”

     “For what, Marge?  For what?”

     “Oh, Theo,” Marge cried as her voice became fainter.  “I think I forgot to turn off the stove.”