'How blue your shirts can be' his friends used to tell him often, mockingly, in his school days. As he is piloting take off in his private helicopter, one he bought from a small fraction of the money he'd made off of his post-apocalyptic novel series 'Blue' this mockery comes to his mind and he starts to laugh like a maniac.

The tsunami siren blares in the distance, but it's echo is drowned in the sharp chop-chop sound of the helicopter blades.

The media had labelled him 'Mr Blue: The paranoid writer', even his fans and his friends, that already came in a short supply from the start, had come to believe that he has really gone mad when a few years ago he expressed his concerns and tried to give a warning of sorts to the world. 'The end is near and, in the end, everything will be blue', he told them and they mocked him, just like he knew they would. He had come to terms with being a misfit in the society long before he had even dreamed of being a writer.

They had all held gabfests where they jabbed at him for taking piloting lessons, his soon-to-be-ex girlfriend had told him 'he should see someone' when one night after sex he had told her about his plan of flying away on a private helicopter as the glorious world with its adherent denizens will drown beneath him.

'Our world appears undeniably blue from afar' lines from his last novel in the post-apocalyptic saga now come to his mind as he waits for the chopper blades to attain a uniform speed.

'If you head down even a modest depth in the ocean you won't experience much warming from the sun, head down a little deeper and oranges go away, past that, violets, yellows and greens too fade away, deepest ocean depths appear deep dark blue.'

He takes flight and observes the evening sky, the thunderclouds also appear deep dark blue, he chuckles.

'The sky & oceans aren't blue because of the reflections at all; they are both blue; but each of their own volition'

'Blue is his favorite!' his mother used to tell everyone who asked about his strange fascination with the color as a child, he had only blue pencils and even his headsets were blue. But he never cared for it, later often when the same question was asked to him by his fans and media he answered 'red' and it was true, there was no denying he was fascinated by the 'Blue' but he had never thought of it as something pleasant, he always deemed it as mystifying, chilling.

'Things will start to turn blue as the red light is taken away'

The red eyelid of sunset at the horizon closes for a moment and then opens, as the multitude of ocean rises to a fatal height of 4000 feet.

'The end is near and, in the end, everything will be blue and dark and cold. The world will also begin to appear undeniably blue from near as it does from afar.'

He glances down to take one last look at the small crowd gathered up on the rooftop of the nearest skyscraper beneath him and in it he sees a family of four holding hands and praying, in a few minutes they'll be dead, he thinks, and then slowly and reluctantly he looks around in the cockpit of his Bell 206 Jet Ranger, at the four empty seats, why should he show humanity to this world during his survival now when it did not show him any during his survival through all of his life, it had always treated him as an outcast, wasn't that the very reason he is flying alone in a helicopter he bought with a capacity of five, he had no one in this world who trusted him with their life, his mother loved him but she died of leukemia last year and he had no father from the start, so now he has no one in this world to save. Except there is, he is in two minds, not an unfamiliar spot to be in as a writer so he does what he used to do when thoughts played duets like this one in his mind. He closes his eyes and keeps one hand on his thrumming heart, that decided for him.

He expertly maneuvers the Jet lower, towards the building, as he does so, he watches the crowd gasping with surprise, he puts its strength around twenty or so. He comes at a distance of 50 feet from the edge of the rooftop, his face in level with the faces in the crowd, faces of people who couldn't beat the tsunami by getting out of the city in time. Thunder roars and the tsunami siren continues its wailing, which is now achieving no purpose except scaring the shit out of everyone, on the windshield he sees rain drops and suddenly an urge to fly off into the sunset alone resurfaces in his mind, he tells himself not to be afraid and from the bag lying in the co-pilot seat he pulls out a megaphone and a 50-Cal. Magnum.