The world has died the same way everything else did: without warning, without meaning. I now stand wondering what its final thoughts were. It was probably minding its own busyness, having aspirations about…I do not know…spinning around itself and just as it was wondering how beautiful its next rotation might be, the universe crushed the life out of it and set its corpse on fire. However, in the brief moment it had left, our world, like a man hit by a car on his wedding day, rolled over, bloody on the black asphalt of its orbit, and whispered: “Why?”

Hah! Who are you to dare ask the universe such questions? She does not have time to answer and I do not think she has an answer to give. So what if you have been here for billions of years! Face it! She killed you on a whim created by chance. This is how you came to be and this is how you will end. The fate that has befallen this planet is no different from the fate of countless humans before: a meaningless death. I only wish I did not have to go down with you.

I am sitting in a bunker, waiting for the supplies to dwindle and for humanity to process its inevitable demise, as the fires outside continue. I guess we are still in shock, but it is a cold and hollow feeling compared to what I have usually felt. It is uncalled for- to die like this. Why should the death of the world lead to our demise as well? It seems unfair, but then I remember that the universe has no players in this game. It has no bias and reasoning. Our world experienced nothing, but the same fate that we have endured for eons. Maybe it deserved a better end, different treatment, but it is possible I am thinking so only because of my own self-interest.

The ship is sinking and all those around me have divided themselves according to their interpretation of the situation. There are those who hope and believe they will somehow make it through. Counter to them stand the very few pessimists who have not yet ended their life in a fragile attempt to take fate into their own hands. I do not belong in either. There is no hope to uphold without severe mental straining and I have no such energy to give. And killing myself feels like a tautology.

I am already dead. I have no future. If man is a constant project during life, then mine has ended. If this project reaches completion only in death, then I am already dead, despite my breathing. I choose to suffer and examine this finished project as only a few were ever in a position to do so.

My last breath will most likely be as mundane as it can get. None of us get to choose our death and upholding the illusion that a peaceful end where we get to plan our last words and thoughts is harmful. Statistically how likely is one to die in bed, conscious and able to reflect on who they were? Too low to justify the widespread fantasy that all of us continue to perpetuate within our minds.

The end of your being is not a nuisance that you can ignore so that you can casually ask yourself "Did I do well? Did my life had an impact? Oh, my last words! I almost forgot, ha silly me. Hmm, let me think, ah yes perfect these will do...“ Dying is painful work and rarely can one enjoy the serenity of a deathbed, surrounded by those they love while being able to ignore their own suffering in the name of their last words. Most of us will make one step on the sidewalk, hear the screeching of tires and before you can even think of saying "Richard, after so many years I'm finally going to see you again in heaven." you're dead or you go unconscious only to die before you wake up. Sad to say, but most of our deaths will come out of nowhere. One moment a person will be minding their own mundane busyness and the very next they will cease to be.

Thus, thinking of your last words is a pointless very pointless exercise fuelled by the belief that your end will be meaningful because you will get the chance to finish the story the way you want it to finish. In reality, some die before they can even have thoughts so why should the rest of us expect that the world would treat our story with any respect when others have had theirs end before they have even started?

However, not all is doom and gloom as even though I might choke on the peanuts that I am eating while writing this, I am still lucky enough to have been alive. Instead, what we should focus on is reflection. Reflection on our life as often as we can just in case that deathbed fantasy never comes our way. If it does then we have had plenty of practice. However, if it does not then one could not say that they have been cheated a proper end because they have often summarised it in their lifetime. Similarly, to typing in a document one can often come back to the summarization of their life and add to it by reflecting on themselves. This way even if they die out of nowhere, there is a file that they have made of themselves for themselves, which contains their ideal ending. It is not a perfect end; no one will see this finished file, but it is an improvement over waiting for the deathbed fantasy only to then die without reflecting anything about yourself. We need to reflect as much as we can while we are alive and well, because the chance to do so might never come.

Time for another peanu– *starts chocking*

Immanuel Kant is brought back to the 21st century via a technologically boosted thought experiment. However, he escapes into real life Berlin on the 14th of February. The very confused philosopher then bumps into Helga, a 45 year old flower shop owner who has lost her husband in an "Understanding Kant" competition. Feeling something of her lost husband in Kant, Helga decides to leave her life of depression and stagnation in order to help him find his home town of Königsberg (now Kaliningrad, Russia) where he wishes to carry on with his life.

However, the two of them are pursued, by those who've brought Kant back to life claiming he is their property, creating an obstacle in their path.

Join one of the most passionate philosophers on his quest to understand that marriage is not just a contract for the use of each other's sex organs, but a fruit of love. Together Kant and Helga will teach each other, love, passion, deontology and the categorical imperative.

Human nature so must be:

I am cursed,

to blame no one else, but me.