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The End Was the Word – Part 2

Luis always wrote as if it was his last story. As if there was no afterward. But now it was a fact! He would go down with the rocky island of Eldey, and it would be his last story.

He kept himself and his writing flowing with the beers, there were still enough cans and bottles of beer in the fridge, and only at the end of the story, after he’d emailed it to his ex, would he treat himself to a good buzz with a few more beers, a good endeavor in the face of doom.

His words flowed: Letters – second by second – words and sentences, every minute, just as steadily, in a beat of their own, just as he drank from the beer.

Suddenly the earth shook and an ink roller rolled off the desk.

Attentive as Luis was, he noticed that the beer was slightly tilted in the bottle.

Surely Eldey, the rocky island, wouldn’t sink into the water, end up with one side sticking out crookedly like the stern of the Titanic, and then break in half?

Luis looked out of the window – and half of the coast of Iceland was already visible. It was no longer green as usual, but red and pulsating with shooting magma.

The world may not have ended completely – at least he hoped so – but the island he was on definitely was. And possibly far too quickly.

“Go on! Keep writing!” he ordered himself, threw an empty beer can against the window, cleared his throat and continued hammering away at the keyboard.

Next chapter. Go on.

He didn’t look at his watch at all. He had already lost his sense of time a few days ago, because now, in December, the sun was permanently below the horizon and it was always twilight outside.

Music! He needed music!

On the one hand, because his island was sinking with him, and on the other, to give him more drive. Perhaps it would increase his writing speed.

He switched on the fat floor-standing speakers to the left and right of the desk, optimally aligned in terms of angle and distance, and started playing his favorite dub techno playlist.

He typed faster, and since it was a rough draft, totally and honestly, in an absolutely exceptional situation, he didn’t even correct anything. Although on the laptop, he wrote as if it were a typewriter, putting something irretrievably on paper, manifesting it without really being able to correct anything.

A bang – power cut! His generator from outside was probably fucked now too.

But no matter, the laptop battery was still running, three hours should still be possible. If things went badly, his laptop would run longer than he would stay alive.

Some kind of fumes were shooting up outside his window, and yellow foam was covering the outside of the window.

From outside: the roar of a helicopter!

“No way!“ Luis shouted, slamming the last words of the story onto the keyboard:

”So, what did you want to tell me then?” Jodie wanted to know.

Marcus gave her a kiss and said:

“Baby… we live forever.”

“Over!” Luis shouted, saved the file one last time and emailed it to his ex.

He drank an entire beer in two gulps, then staggered to the window – the helicopter’s rotor blades were making a gigantic noise, and since it landed right outside his front door, it swept away any toxic fumes.

A guy got out of the helicopter and hurried towards his front door.

Luis opened it and recognized Frank Schneider, the guy who always supplied him with food, caffeine pills and ink rollers.

“What is it?” asked Luis.

“Iceland is lost!”

“Shit… Then…”

“Tell us what to do!”

“Us? How many are left in the helicopter?”

“There are four of us altogether.”

“Do I know them?”

“No.”

“Okay, then…,” Luis said, ”we’ll have to figure out how we want to die.”

“Oh God, I knew it.”

“Yeah, well… wait.”

Luis went to the fridge and got himself a can of beer. Now it was probably the case that he knew exactly how he was going to die. Just as he knew exactly how his stories would end.

“Let’s go!” Luis ordered Frank, and together they hurried to the helicopter.

After Luis had taken his seat and put on his flying headset, he briefed everyone else – Anton, Benjamin and Charlie – about his plan:

„We’re flying into the biggest volcano!”

“Oh God, I knew it,” said Frank.

“But why?” asked Anton, starting to cry.

“Because I actively take my life into my own hands until the last second! And because there’s no other way out for us!” said Luis, and asked the pilot Charlie how much fuel was left in the tank.

“I have at most ten minutes of fuel left in the tank!”

Luis saw this confirmed: instead of going down somewhere uncoordinated, it was best to actively bring about his own death.

Charlie saw it the same way as Luis – flying into the volcano was the best option for him too. And since no one else could fly the helicopter, there would be no mutiny against him.

Luis sat next to Charlie in the cockpit, as he wanted to be engulfed by the magma as quickly as possible so that he wouldn’t feel a thing.

Approach!

Anton buried his face in his hands and cried.

Benjamin blindfolded himself.

Charlie screamed, “Fuuuuuuuuuck!”

Luis opened the can of beer, half a liter, drank a big gulp, held the can to his mouth, drew the beer into his gullet, just as quickly as the helicopter flew down into the volcano, drank greedily on, without taking his eyes off the glowing and pulsating main vent of the volcano, which was only a few meters away.

Lava, gases, ash!

The beer, another good four sips, it still wasn’t empty, another three sips, and that made Luis happy, because he really wanted to die drinking a beer and not be left with an empty can.

At least there was a little feeling of triumph, just as awesome as finishing a novel.

The end.