Happy Doomsday

As predicted by leading models to the millisecond, the sun released its final coronal mass ejection. Now obviously, this event was not the sun's final, but merely the final to be observed by those Earth-bound beings able to chronicle it. Other beings would also eventually observe this negligible blink of energy from galaxies away, and deduce its existential implications using inconceivably complex signal analysis techniques, resulting in a brief empathetic funeral for yet another extinct species.

As the countdown reached zero, the anticipation was over and the "End of the World" parties commenced on schedule. These were less riotous and uncertain than one might expect; at the time, the overwhelming mood of humanity was practical pacifism. It seemed as if the advanced knowledge of impending doom allowed bucket lists to be completed and affairs to be settled in a graceful manner. It certainly helped that poverty, famine, war, racism, climate change, and other global problems had been nearly eradicated as the savior of technology steadily advanced over the last few centuries.

Earth's inhabitants had already seen the planet's most interesting sights, although that didn't prevent them from congregating there in masses during their final days of existence. In this spirit, it was upon Rapa Nui (formerly Easter Island) that Zane found herself dancing freely among the iconic Moai monoliths, with matching Enviro-Tumblers of gin in one hand and tonic in the other. After all, it was her favorite drink in her favorite place, and she had never considered mixing it all together until this ultimate moment. Appropriately enough, her favorite food was also cozily lounging nearby in the Enviro-Cooler, painstakingly concocted by hand from the original recipe passed down through eleven gritty generations: Petro's Chili and Chips. The Enviro-Cooler was smart enough to keep food cold until ready to heat and eat, as if the fridge and microwave had been inevitably mashed together into a more refined version of "sous vide".  

Despite the modernized combination of target-adaptive diet and nano-personalized medicine, which had essentially deprecated the concept of homemade food, it would be her last meal on this cosmic death row. The corn chips, chili, cheese, and assorted toppings were haphazardly jumbled together into a single steamy lump, each bite of which triggered every threshold alert on her embedded health sensors. While the parental beeps and chimes could not be silenced, she embraced the 128 BPM tempo for her last belly-busting belly-dance. That was a comfort that could never become obsolete, even in the second-rate sci-fi musings of a short story hobbyist.