Chester A. Arthur XVII and Queen Victoria XXX sat with their backs against the closed, locked doors of the liquor store, staring out into the alternatingly bright and pitch-black dawn.
“We probably should’ve checked the hours before we left,” said Queen Victoria XXX.
“Yeah,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII, leaning his head against the door. “In hindsight, our actions were rather rash.”
“We were out of beer,” explained Queen Victoria XXX, shrugging.
The pair watched as the horizon turned purple, then black, then blue, then purple again, within a span of seconds.
It had been doing that a lot lately.
After the world was ended for the twenty-first time, every single governing body on the planet collapsed in what was described as “the greatest, most confusing game of dominos ever witnessed.” During the brief vacuum of political and military power that followed, an orbital cannon was hijacked by a giant lizard that was, in turn, being controlled by a giant ape and, well, hijinks ensued.
“The sky’s kind of pretty, though.”
“In that ‘science can’t explain how it hasn’t killed us all yet’ kind of way, sure.”
It was all very complicated.
“Well, yeah,” replied Queen Victoria XXX. “What other definition of ‘pretty’ is there?”
Society was handling it fairly well, all things considered.