"The days were no longer clear, the skies were no longer sweet. The air was a dust-clogged mass that chewed at the lungs, that made the eyes smart. The grass was dying, the fields were covered with even films of ash and pumice. The nights were no longer silent. The trembled, and the horizon shivered with the flame-light of volcanic eruptions, tingeing the sky. The many smells of death rode the wind, carrying proof of the end to the four corners of the Earth, where men sank to their knewws, and prayed, who had never known prayer before."

From Suicide World

By Harlan Ellison

1958.