Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The clock’s echoes reverberate. They are amplified tenfold with each return.

My heart beats at the bars of its bony cage, threatening to find a new abode should I fail to give it respite.

Sweaty fingers slip—I am sorry.

This is it. The end of our world.

Eamonn Hickson is a Creative Writing student in the Institute of Technology, Tralee, Ireland.