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Before they were Night Vale: Your own personal
🕑 Added 2021-12-28 20:38:00 +0000 UTC[Content warning: talking below about death; mostly philosophically, but if you're kind of wanting to think about upbeat things right now, maybe come back to this post later.)
An idea I come back too pretty regularly in my writing is "individual apocalypse." In science fiction (and even in real world news), there's a lot of focus on The End of Times. And I don't wish to downplay that. But The End doesn't seem like it will happen in an afternoon. There are, of course, ways in which it could (giant asteroid comes to mind), but for the most part, The End either occurs regionally in a short burst, or globally over many many years.
And who's to even say what The End is? Are we at The End of Times right now? In this plague? In this irreversible era of climate change? Perhaps. But it's likely that we don't get to face our deaths together. As folk singer Dar Williams wrote "We know that we are born (and are dying) alone." I would like to go out fighting, but I know that I might just lose lifeforce at age 80 in my bed. Or I might get in a fatal accident. Or I might be the victim of a pandemic illness.
In the case of the latter, I don't know that I would see myself at The End of Times, merely just the end of my own time. It's just my struggle.
I bring this up, because my uncle Bob died last month. He was in his 70s, but he was healthy and lively, and then one day, there was an accident, and he wasn't any more. It was the first time I've ever lost someone where I thought: "You shouldn't be dead yet. This is an error. I need to speak to the manager! You'll be hearing from my lawyer, Cruel Fate!"
Most days, I worry about The End of Times, but since Bob died, I haven't been thinking about that at all. I've been too busy having my own personal response (anger, sadness, fond memories) to someone else no longer being part of my life.
Sorry. This is super depressing for a Patreon page for a podcast that's predominantly comedic. I promise I'm doing great, and I have lots of good times and laughs and all that. But these BTWNV posts are about bringing you some old writing, and this particular concept of a personal death versus a collective death has been on my mind for at least 12 years, as you can read in the short play below.
I, like everyone, fear death for myself, and resent death for happening to other people. But I also know that the only way to not spiral into existential crises is to face it head on. As I wrote for my other fiction podcast "Within the Wires": death is a stray dog you feed, not because you love it, but because you don't want it biting you out of hunger.
Anyway, I don't want to leave this post on a bummer note, so let me just say that the last time I saw my uncle Bob was in October of this year, when we had a family get together in Boise. He was drinking beer from a can and watching a Boise State football game and talking about how his teenage grandsons were such talented athletes themselves. We discussed the evolution of college football offensive schemes. All this while he was wearing one of those T-Shirts that has the full frontal animal print. And his shirt in particular was of a beagle's face. And sitting next to him on the couch was his beagle Lucy.
I'm still mad he's gone, but I'm really thankful for that being my last memory.
Your own personal
© Jeffrey Cranor, 2008
[ 1, 2, & 3 are standing UC, in that order. In front of them, 4 & 5 are holding up a white sheet. Behind them is a floodlight creating shadows of the 3 on the sheet. All other lights start black. About 10 lines in, the stage lights slowly fade up from 0 to normal by the end of the play. All 3 speakers are standing next to each other facing downstage. We can't see their lips, and their gestures are minimal, but not restrictive. Each line is spoken as its own sentence, not as a lead up to continuation by the next speaker. ]
1: Signs of the times.
2: The end of times.
3: Maybe we're nearing it.
1: How on earth?
2: How did we get here?
3: Not here here, but Here.
1: Right! Here. Right here.
2: Ourselves?
3: Or those who came before us?
1: Someone once said.
2: Something.
3: Someone said something.
1: Yes.
2: Yep.
3: Yeah.
[ beat ]
1: Oh! History is your responsibility.
2: That's what someone said.
3: You carry the debts of your father.
1: And so here we are.
2: With what's left.
3: Of the oil.
1: Of the air.
2: Of the land.
3: Of our souls.
[ all inhale ]
1: And yet, we've made it this far.
2: Generation after generation.
3: They all thought they wouldn't.
1: I still fear the bomb.
2: The plague.
3: The end of times.
1: But sometimes you don't.
2: You rarely do.
3: You just don't die like that.
1: Sometimes you just fall down.
2: You fall down a dark elevator shaft.
3: You didn't know what was down there.
1: And it's all over.
2: And you quickly realize.
3: In that final split second.
1: That you just had your own.
2: You had your own individual apocalypse.
[ 4 & 5 drop the sheet and leave upstage. ]
3: [ exhales ]
[ 4 & 5 turn out flood light; stage lights are at full ]
1: That's better.
2: Much better here alone.
3: Alone here in the dark.
CURTAIN
Comments
Sonja Repetti
Wow, this really got to me. What an interesting meditation and short piece. I’ll be thinking about this I think
Christine Havens
I love this. Thank you.
