They were drunk. Of course they were. According to their parents, that's all they ever did - get drunk and complain. Tonight was no different.
What else was there to do in a world that was ending? Not much, Kayla figured.
She glanced over and Brandon. He pulled another drag from the joint, then passed it back to her. She studied it a moment, before dragging the smoke into her lungs.
She coughed, still not quite used to the weed. They stumbled onward, wandering through the night. Where exactly they were going, she did not know.
But what did it matter? They'd all be dead in a matter of weeks. That's what NBC was saying, anyway.
"Fuck the news," Brandon slurred. He staggered, the beer in his bottle sloshing around. Kayla brought her own bottle to her lips, gulping down the liquid.
It tasted like shit, but even shit somehow tasted amazing right now.
"Fuck the news," Kayla agreed.
They wandered, slowing their stride as they neared the center of the city. Brandon looked around, then lay on the ground. Kayla followed him, lying in the middle of the street.
It was abandoned, turned into some kind of ghost town in the past weeks.
Abandoned broadcasting stations still played an automated loop of new broadcasts, music, and various commentary on current situations around the world.
How the broadcasters updated the loop, Kayla did not know.
They were currently playing a sermon from some overly-zealous pastor. Someone, Kayla thought, was likely already dead.
They listened to the man speak about glory and salvation, about damnation and temptation, and many things in between.
Kayla did not know how any of that mattered now, or if it would ever really matter again. Would God open his Pearly Gates when all of this went to Hell? Kayla wasn't so sure anymore.
"What do we really know?" Kayla asked aloud.
Brandon looked at her, then shrugged. He took back the joint, pulling on it. "Nothing," he spat. "We don't know a damn thing."
She sighed. He was right. They - not just Brandon and her, but the entire human race - always assumed they knew so much; that they were Gods.
Kayla was feeling light-headed now. The weed and drink were getting to her, making her wonder if any of the night had truly occurred, or if they were just distant dreams born of intoxication.
They lay in silence in the street, watching a lone plane soar across the sky above them. It looked wrong, somehow. Like something out of a science fiction story.
Brandon slowly reached across the space between them, slowly intertwining his fingers with her.
The radio continued to play over speakers in the background, but the stories it played no longer seemed to matter. All that mattered was the now, the feeling of his weight in her hand.
The feeling of air rushing in and out of her lungs. The plane sailed on, leaving them behind in the dark of the night.
Soon, the air that rushed in and out of their lungs left them behind, too. In, out, in, out... Out.
There was no glory, no pearly gates, no funeral of mourners. Just a silent death in the dead of night.