Drip

He sat in the chair and waited for the world to end. The room was mainly white, except in one corner where the junction of walls and ceiling had turned a dirty cream. It was here that the drip dripped, each drop taking an eternity to form and fall.

‘Is anyone there?’ he asked, and the phone crackled.

‘Still no,’ the horseman said in a cheery voice. ‘Pretty sure they all drowned. Just you to go and then I can go home for the weekend.’

He sighed.

‘Where do you actually live? ‘ he asked, as a drop fell, taking a miniscule amount of the plaster with it.

‘ I don’t think I’m going to tell you,’ the horseman replied, and whistled. The phone gave up, and silence ruled the room once more.

Another drop of water fell, and then the ceiling did, and a flood of water descended.

‘Oh.’

The man holding the watering can looked at him guiltily.

‘You know, ‘ he said slowley; ‘ we may have just made up that whole apocalypse thing.’

And out of the can came the final drop.

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