Happy End by Maria Ignatieva

Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that,
if it were created at all and didn't just start, as it were, unofficially, it came into being between ten and twenty thousand million years ago. Hardly enough time to figure out what is what. Hardly enough time to make a choice.
“Okay, how is that: I’m leaving, Sandra comes up and tells you that you’ve been right all along, your work gets approved by the Academic Council, and you become a trusted authority in your field for whatever time is left.”
“But they have just rejected it! Claimed my argumetation inconsistent! Said my evidence was unsubstantial!”
“Think that would be unconvincing? Fair enough…”
A thoughtful hum; a shuffle of papers in the briefcase.
“Tell me, do you like Sandra?”
“What?”
“I asked if you liked Sandra. You see, she’s just half a mile away, I could contact her author and we would pull off a sudden meeting, a desperate confession, and call it a happily ever after,” the stranger frowns at her watch. “There even might be enough time for a lovely date, or at least a passionate make-out session, if you decide quickly.”
“What?! No!”
“Look,” the stranger seems to start losing her temper. “We don’t have the entire day. You either chose your ending now or your story becomes a pathetic scribble with no decent plot whatsoever. Inconvinient for both of us, let me assure you. Come on, what is your dream? Your goal? Your quest? Anything?”
A pause.
“Can I become a singer?”
“No way, I’ve stated clearly that you don’t possess neither taste nor talent in music. I can show you the exact quotes…”
“No, thanks.”
She sighs and pulls a massive envelope out of her briefcase.
“That is highly unprofessional of me, but emergency times demand emergency measures… Here is a letter from a trustworthy solicitor informing you about the death of your super distant but super rich relative in Switzerland. Would this ending be good enough for you?”
“What is the point if I don’t have the time to spend the money?”
“It’s not about the profit!” She goes off. “Ah, great, it’s too late now. See the sky? They will be here at any moment now.”
She closes her briefcase and stands up, smiling bitterly.
“Congrats, you’ve been indecisive enough to end up as a walk-on and not a valuable character. Hurry up with your dessert. It’s the closest to a happy ending that you’re getting.”
“Wait!”
“What now?”
“Can I… Can I save them?”
She squints at the clouds gathering on the west, heavy, menacingly scarlet.
She sighs.
She sits back down.