I have 3 hours.

3 hours…and then that’s it. Is there even a reason why I should try to fight this? With the inevitability of it all, I mean, why struggle at all?

I turned off the TV. I wasn’t listening anymore. The screen slowly dimmed, and then left me sitting alone in my easy chair.

3 hours.

Would I bother telling my wife? She had gone to bed early. The baby had been kicking her insides all day, and she was worn right out.

The thought of that new life brought a glowing smile to my face. For a moment, the impending doom didn’t matter. There was a little boy, or girl, my wife was sure it was a girl, kicking and moving there. Whoever they would turn out to be, they wanted to come out and see the world…

The smile vanished, and darkness enveloped me.

3 hours.

Outside I could hear the faint noise of chaos. Cars honking. Doors slamming. People screaming back and forth. Everyone anxious to get to the nearest shelter, for all the good it would do. They would be sitting ducks…but weren’t we all?

A Russia-sized meteor was barrelling down on the Earth. Why fight and fret for the last 3 hours of life?