It took a moment for Francisco to remember what all the sirens meant. Eventually they split through his hangover and into the memory centre of his brain and he remembered that the world was ending today.
He stumbled through into his living room. An orange glow touched everything. There were bottles everywhere. “At least I won’t have to clean up,” Francisco thought. He found someone’s trousers and clumsily hopped into them. In his mind, he was trying to do some complicated equations to decide if he had time for breakfast. Looking at the time though he realised he had continued to sleep even after the siren had begun. Solar flares would probably already be licking at the planet’s surface, besides, if he didn’t go soon the siren would probably reduce him to bashing his own skull in.
Francisco walked out onto his personal landing platform and into an oven. The protective dome didn’t seem to be worth a damn now. Every breath he took felt like it was singeing away his lungs. He looked over the Kinshasa/Brazzaville skyline for the last time. The mighty Congo river had been reduced to a trickle, blasted away by solar radiation. There was no longer a sky, the sun covered it all. “Time to go,” Francisco said sounding to himself very small. He hopped into his flyer and was quickly away, sending a signal to the dome which allowed his ship to pass through it. Thinking about he decided he was incredibly lucky that the dome’s systems still worked given the immense strain they must now be under.
He flew away from the equator and then out into space. Once he had gotten far enough away he turned to look back to see the Earth engulfed by the Sun.