Five Minutes Before the World Ended

Five Minutes Before the World Ended

00:05:00

The clock on the kitchen wall kept ticking. Five minutes.

Lena’s coffee had gone cold, untouched, as she stared at the television, her pulse pounding in her ears. The broadcast had been repeating the same phrase for the last ten minutes:

"All citizens, remain indoors. Seek shelter immediately. This is not a drill."

The words scrolled across the bottom of the screen, but it wasn’t the text that froze her — it was the sky outside the window, painted with streaks of orange and violet, an unnatural glow spreading across the horizon.

She gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. The last message from Noah was still open:

"On my way. Wait for me."

00:04:36

The sirens outside wailed again, louder this time, rising and falling like the world's final breath. Neighbors scrambled across the street, dragging bags, clutching children, their faces contorted in panic.

She should’ve run. There was a shelter two blocks down.

But she stayed.

She always stayed—for him.

Noah had promised. One more trip. One last satellite repair before they shut the stations down. One more paycheck. They had planned to leave this city, escape the chaos, before it got this bad.

But time had other plans.

00:03:58

The news anchor's voice cracked through the speakers: “Impact expected in approximately… three minutes. This is your final alert.”

Lena’s breath hitched. Her phone vibrated.

"Traffic’s impossible. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

Her vision blurred. She could picture him now — stuck on the overpass, miles away, roads clogged with terrified people, headlights flickering like fireflies in the dusk.

Her legs trembled, but she stood, pacing the living room, unsure what to do with these last minutes. The air felt heavy, electric, like the sky itself was holding its breath.

00:03:12

She opened the window. The strange glow deepened, stretching like ribbons of fire across the atmosphere. The comet — that’s what they called it.

"A near-Earth object of unprecedented size," the scientists had said.

"Minimal risk," they promised.

Lies. All of it.

It fractured weeks ago. And the fragments? One was aimed right here — at their city. At this planet.

They had five minutes when the final confirmation came.

00:02:49

Lena sank onto the couch, fingers trembling as she typed:

"If you can’t make it… just know I love you. Always."

She hit send, throat closing. Her eyes drifted to the framed photograph on the wall: Her and Noah on the beach, hair tangled in the wind, sun setting behind them. His arms wrapped around her, the future wide open.

How small that future looked now.

00:02:10

Another message came through.

"I love you too. Stay strong, baby. I’m with you… always."

Her heart shattered. She pressed the phone to her chest, curling her body around it like it was him.

The ground trembled beneath her feet. The faintest rumble — distant, ominous.

From her window, she saw the incoming fire streak across the heavens. Bright as a second sun. People screamed in the streets. A flock of birds scattered in the air, their silhouettes melting into the crimson light.

00:01:15

Time was syrup. Thick, slow, suffocating.

Lena stood tall, wiping tears from her face. If these were her final moments, she'd face them standing, with her head held high.

The world outside was chaos — sirens, screams, prayers — but inside, she was still.

She remembered every small moment: Noah's laugh, their midnight talks, his hand in hers.

The stars above, now dimmed by approaching doom, had once held promises. Now they held only the echo of what could have been.

00:00:38

The comet fragment breached the clouds — burning, spinning, unstoppable.

Lena closed her eyes, whispering a silent goodbye to the world.

To the strangers outside. To the streets they walked. To the trees that lined the park. To the friends she hadn't seen in months, thinking there was more time.

Regret wrapped around her chest, but it couldn’t drown the one thing she still had — love.

00:00:12

The explosion of light filled the sky.

The windows rattled. The walls groaned.

Lena pressed her palm to the photograph, whispering, "I love you," as the ground split beneath her feet.

00:00:03

There was no more time.

Just light.

Just love.

And the end.