END OF THE WORLD
The world ended in Wendover, Nevada.
It was a warm September night at a Holiday Inn when the electrical power spasmodically blinked off. In this border town of neon gambling lights, ninety-nine cent buffets, belching diesel trucks, franchise food joints, and brothel trailers parked along freeway exits, the world ceased.
You were not with me. I was homeward bound, watching late-night TV, and restless in my motel bed. The end came at 2:00 a.m. as I was shuffling from bed to frig for water.
Suddenly engulfed by coffin darkness, I groped onto the balcony. An approaching vortex billowed across the moonlit desert horizon. The communal snoring from motel guests would cease before morning wake-up calls.
Without a whimper, the world stopped in Wendover, Nevada. The end came not because of nuclear confrontation, terrorist suicide bravado, or promises of heavenly rapture.
Mother earth exhaled her last breath because she was worn-out and could no longer heal herself. Her immune system could not fight off the accumulative infections of polluted water veins, hellish fevers from global warming, or toxic chemical soil scabs.
I hoped I was dreaming …I was not.