The End of Loneliness

by Benedict Wells

Only the dull grinding of the city was still audible in the distance, and out here on my own I realised, with a sense of physical pain, that I had not used my time. Had fought for minutes when trying to catch a bus; wasted years because I hadn’t done what I wanted to do.

‘It’s … From the moment we’re born we’re on the Titanic.’ My brother shakes his head; he’s uncomfortable giving speeches like this. ‘What I’m trying to say is: we’re going down, we won’t survive this, it’s already been decided. Nothing can change that. But we can choose whether we’re going to run around screaming in panic, or whether we’re like the musicians who play on, bravely and with dignity, although the ship is sinking.