The asteroid was moving closer to Earth, its presence consuming the news cycle. All the other horrific realities became small and filtered, the mass shootings and airplane crashes that barely etched a ripple into public consciousness. For the first time in her life, Maureen became truly aware of the finitude of life; death was a large and nebulous concept that was easy to ignore so long as it happened to someone else.

She became obsessed with watching, waiting for updates on its trajectory and size, though no one close to her seemed much concerned. Her parents, like the neighbors, assumed the object’s path would inevitably be diverted, citing the prior successes of asteroid redirection tests. For them, the asteroid was a marginally interesting astronomical event, not the inevitable cause of humanity’s doom. Maureen would sit there in her studio apartment after work, eating roast beef sandwiches with mayo and ketchup, riveted to the television screen. In bed, she scrolled mindlessly until the dim glow emitting from her phone put her to sleep.

Researchers were alarmed in a way Maureen hadn’t seen before, murmuring about collateral consequences. They stopped short of discussing mass extinction, but Maureen could sense the unspoken thought. She hoped maybe everyone else was pretending to be fine and she was just bad at hiding it. When she went through the drive-through in the mornings for a breakfast sandwich, the worker told her to have a good day the same way they always did. It felt absurd to spend time choosing which kind of biscuit she wanted when the world was surely ending.

A few weeks after the initial announcement about the asteroid’s existence, she had a man over. She’d met him at the grocery store after helping him reorganize his overturned cart. Maureen was someone who would never appear on anyone’s mental list of a person who would engage in one-night stands. She made them meat loaf and potatoes. Sex was fine; it was always fine with men, but the whole time the man worked away on top of her she could feel his weight pressing into her like a planetary body, his silhouette crossing her face like an object bearing down. At the end, when she sat naked on the edge of the bed and he prepared to leave, she asked him if he was scared. He looked at her like the first person he’d ever seen.

It was humiliating, to care so much. Maureen’s gums grew sore from grinding her teeth at night, and a thin layer of grime began to coat the furniture in her apartment. Everything was pointless when every minute the asteroid continued on its unyielding orbit. She skipped work one day and went to the lake instead, watching as people dipped their legs in the water and unpacked picnic baskets filled with chips and snack cakes. She stuck a finger in the waves and swirled, a stream of minnows trailing from her fingernail like pebbles.

There was a woman on the pier who stood with her back to Maureen, not fishing or playing or watching a child, just staring out over the water. She had long dark hair that billowed like a cloak. Maureen appeared beside her and also looked out over the water. The woman had a tackle box next to her that Maureen hadn’t noticed. Before she had a chance to speak, the woman turned and smiled. She asked Maureen if she was waiting for the asteroid to land and Maureen said yes. She told Maureen it seemed like hardly anyone else was waiting for the same. Across from them on the other shore, two boys grappled with fishing poles, one guiding the other, showing him how to catch and release. The small trout shattered the surface of the water like an oil spill.

She thought about the woman all day and the next. She prepared the fish for dinner like the woman had told her, dredging the pieces in flour, eggs, and cornmeal. The asteroid decreased its distance from the Earth. The scientists explained the difference from comets; they had a tail called a coma. Some could turn into asteroids, but not all. Her boss called her in for a mandatory meeting. Maureen skipped this too. Somehow, there were still people going to the library and to book clubs; dropping their children off at preschool.

One day the newscasters looked worried. They didn’t have makeup on, and they forgot their lines. One said it could be any week now. The other looked like she was trying not to throw up. Maureen thanked the drive-through worker for everything next time she ordered a breakfast sandwich. She submitted her resignation and paid her last month of rent.

The woman invited her over. Her apartment was large and quiet on the top floor; they could see the entire city below. They had wine and didn’t watch the news. Maureen put her phone on airplane mode and the woman turned hers off. Maureen had never been with a woman. They sat together in the living room, watching the power distribution towers blink like stars in the night. The dots were red, synchronized, warning pilots if they dipped too low in the air.

The woman took Maureen’s hand and held it for a long time, and then she kissed her. Maureen could sense an impact against the window. From the panes came a sudden glow.

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Meggie Royer is a Midwestern poet who has recently begun writing short fiction. She has won numerous awards for her writing and mixed media art and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize several times. Her newest poetry collection, A Violet Stretch of Sky, was published in 2025 by akinoga press. She thinks there is nothing better in this world than a finished poem.