I was prompted to write a little flash piece called Nothing Lasts after hearing about the passing of a friend, and was originally posted on the 6 Sentence network. Death makes you realise that nothing lasts, physical or otherwise, so I thought about the metaphorical things that could not outlive even time itself and this short fiction piece came from it.
Nothing lasts, not day or night, not a song by either human or lark, not the phases of the Moon casting silver tinted pockets as it marches silently through the heavens, not the seasons swirling like the wind and churning out myriad colours.
Not even love can breach infinity, no matter how strong.
Nothing lasts, not the ocean or the sky or the shifting earth. Not the sun or the brightest stars, not even your surreal, clouded dreams before they fizzle into oblivion.
Writing and art and all that we once were will be gone, withered and dusted by dark fathomless clouds, then swept up by invisible hands and cast aside into a unknown dimension.
Nothing lasts, not even time; it will eventually run out, sucked in by the universe in a final, fraught gasp when it has burned itself out and it has nothing else to give, and reality will cease.
The ticking of a clock, soft like a heartbeat, sounds in your mind, slowly, gradually counting down to nothing.