The clock struck midnight and it was unremarkable. The seconds ticked past, then minutes, an hour, two, more. Nothing.
No one really knew what it was that was supposed to happen, only that something might. Some thought it should. Others scoffed. Some shut their blinds, locked their doors and huddled down in their basements, among their supply of canned foods. Most threw a party to celebrate.
Celebrate the end of the world, isn't that strange?
We could have ended in fire or ice or dust or water, all of a sudden. It doesn't seem a thing to celebrate. All of life, gone in an instant? It's a tragedy. It's nature. It's the only way the Earth can heal its wounds. But people celebrated their demise. We celebrated our own deaths, knowing there'd be no one left to throw us a funeral.
We didn't die. But what if we had? People would have died with smiles on their faces instead of worrying, sick with fear. It's not a bad way to go, not with a scream, but with a chortle.