Standing on the crowded Brooklyn Bridge, Alastair Creighton watched the tiny bursts of color in the distance, unable to contain his thoughts, “It sure does pretend at beauty. Very convincing.”

  Some of the revelers, impatient for the main show, had already begun launching their less-than-sanctioned fireworks from various rooftop terraces.

  “Ten!” came the shout of a lone voice somewhere in the crowd.

  Alastair checked his watch. This year there was to be a dazzling display launched from the Hudson River side of Manhattan at precisely 9:25 PM. This was the moment; his moment.

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  “Eight!…Seven!…” the now growing chorus continued.

  Alastair questioned himself again. Was this decision truly his to make? Was he even capable of making decisions?

  “Six!…Five!…”

  He thought back on the wasted years, spinning his wheels for a foolish game. A game!

  “Four!”

  Steeling his resolve, Alastair climbed up on one of the steel girders supporting the bridge. Others were doing the same for a better view; no one paid him any attention.

  “Three!”

  Shouting into the night in this world that pretended to be, he took one final step.

  “To the end of all things!”