Peralopolies spread butter on another muffin, Lupin the cat stood up in his new trousers and turned off the alarm, Arthur re-tuned his harp, Mrs Slefton stroked Peter’s hair for the third time, John held his breath for a further minute, Gregory licked his hind quarters and then coughed, Jacky Jack John John wiped his kettle with a soft lint-free cloth, and all the while, the time vortex that had opened in Coventry span faster, spraying out seconds willy-nilly as the population retreated to childhood, with the rapidity of a forty-eight year old man’s sneeze.
Arthur placed his harp aside and stared at the Returnotronic Contraptionarium, which was smoking in a very unfortunate way. He doused himself in water, opened the access hatch, kissed Mrs Slefton on her now hairy hands, wiped his WWII flying goggles and entered the hatch, with an expression somewhere between grim, peeved and horizontal.
Twenty minutes later the entire population of Earth was dead, except for those left living, which was everyone except those who had died naturally, or been in an accident.
Cartoons and things by Simon French