The ball slowly descends on the scene as drunken revelers count down the seconds, 2025 finally--mercifully--coming to an end. Hopes are high in this crowd. After all the lunacy they survived, how could 2026 possibly be worse? Utter nuclear annihilation? Because that's what it would take, most think to themselves.
The crowd shouts themselves hoarse as the ball comes down. "FIVE!" they scream. "FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!"
A light show erupts, bathing the party in flashes and sparks, and confetti flies. Triumphant music blares. It's finally over. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!" they cry out.
Drinks are quaffed. People gather and kiss and hug and take selfies. The fever pitch rises in a way only a fresh start can generate.
The lights go suddenly out. The music stops without so much as a screech or a needle drop. Dead silence reigns supreme. Then quiet mutterings begin. What happened? Is someone going to fix this? Dammit, this is no way to ring in the new year.
And then fireworks unexplode. Music plays backwards. Confetti zips itself back into its cannons. Humanity watches in horror, mouths agape, as the ball rises back up the pole. 2026 retreats, replaced by its predecessor, and the people scream and gnash their teeth and rend their hair, and the horror resumes.
Forever and ever, amen.
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