How To Destroy The Universe

The hatchet

The glass felt cold on the touch. I was trying to find a way to get the hatchet out but it turned out there wasn't a key.

It was getting darker now.

'Can you hurry up, please? I haven't got all day,' said Stanley Doyle and looked at his nails.

I shook my head in disgust. What is wrong with you, aliens? You are about to die and you want me to fucking hurry up? What's the matter with you, anyway?

'Can you do something with this glass for me? I can't seem to–'

Kendara put his hand in the air and the glass cracked. I backed away from the glass and watched as this alien creature in human form was breaking the glass with nothing but a power of thought. He pointed his finger at the glass and it made a noise. The cracks ran across the whole glass. Then he made a fist and hit the air slightly. The glass shattered and fell down, like the leaves fall off the trees in October.

'Wow,' I said. 'I wish I could do that.'

'You could do many other things we can't,' said the creature who was Stanley Doyle. 'Like, love. Be afraid. Read poetry. Drink cappuccinos. Recently I learned to enjoy the sunsets. Personally, I find them fascinating. When the light emits radiation, our eyes–'

'We get it,' broke him off Kendara. 'Jack, you've got five minutes before that bitch secretary of his comes back.'

I nodded and slowly took the hatchet out of the box. It felt heavy and cold. I touched the red blade. It felt sharp.

'Jack, what in the hell are you doing?' asked Kendara. 'Just kill the fucker already!'

Slowly, I started walking across the room to the window, where Stanley Doyle – the author of bestselling popular science books that I read as a college kid, a person who I respected, who I looked up to, who I wanted to meet so much, and finally got to through a job I despised at the New Observer – was standing. And God knows, I was not walking to greet him.

I was carrying a fire hatchet that I was now holding with both hands. And I was going to kill him. I knew it. There was no other way to go around this. He was an alien, even though in human form. I was a human, and I couldn't die now. I still had at least 70 years to go. That's 24299 days, 3471 weeks, 72899 meals, 798 salaries, 399 trips to go on, a thousand bottles of wine, and a few thousand times of getting laid.

And I liked getting laid. I liked getting laid very much.

If I didn't do the job, Kendara would find someone else. He didn't care about me. This was a cosmic test.

I was always interested in space. I always wanted to save the Universe.

And this was my chance.

I was now very close to Stanley Doyle and looked him straight in the eye. I could see a mustard stain on his beard.

I got a better grip on the hatchet and slowly started to put it above my head.

I was going to kill him now.