NetWeasel wrote:I think i know what part of the problem is...But I think it was the suddenness that hurt the worst.Spoiler:We met Cueball and Megan on the beach and sat with them as they made sandcastles. We watched them begin to worry about the rising sea. We used our collective might and intellegence, and the power of the internet to help them figure out the problem. We were with them on the long journey of exploration and discovery. No clue was too small for us to toss back and forth to help them on their way.
The night we saw the stars, we knew the stars were a clock, a calendar, and a map. We instantly tried to help them by figuring out where and when they were. We came pretty close, too.
We were with them when they met the foreign speaking strangers -- from the first utterance, we tried to help them understand. As more language came in, we got closer to understanding -- not close enough, but closer. When they met someone who could (barely) communicate with them, we were right there, using all our powers to wrest out every single word, and part of a word, from the tangled fog of synonyms of the other's attempts at communication.
We knew that our attempts at help might not do them any good -- but we wanted to be ready, just in case. Just in case that moment arose that they could hear us, and we could help.
And then we Ran with them, consulting our carefully made maps, and the ones they had, working out the best way back to their people. Once they found their people, we were still with them, helping as best we could. Reasearching, investigating -- learing the science necessary to understand their situation -- because we were with them.
We were with them as the Ship was built, giving as much advice toward its construction as we could.
We were there with them as the Ship ran aground. We consulted our maps and our calendars to try to find their location -- to see if this was a safe place, to see if they had actually made it through the disaster, or if this was just a stop along the way....
As they went to explore the new place they had found, we went with them. For a few feet.
Suddenly, like a bouncer outside of a dance club, stood the words "THE END".
And we had the choice of going through the whole "But we're with them"/"You're not on the list" dance, we could beat our fists on the bouncer's chest, or just realize it would do no good. We had to stand there as our friends went to a new place that we did not know was safe. A place where we could no longer protect them.
Good analysis, as was Rule110's earlier.
That last sentence hits the nail on the head for me, though: it was the suddenness that was the biggest shock.
When you read a good book, or see a good movie, you pretty much know when the end is coming, simply because you're running out of pages or allotted time. (I suppose when you read an eBook and don't pay attention to the progress bar, you could have the same problem.)
I've said it before, but it bears repeating: the ending of time felt incredibly rushed to me, ever since they started “RUN.”ning. It's as if the GLR was fed up with it and wanted to end it (or alternatively, had to end it for some reason, perhaps going on vacation – hopefully nothing more serious). It's as if Time is a Stephen King novel (like the uncut edition of The Stand), part one (The Beach) is 800 pages, part two (The Journey) is 1200 pages, and the grand finale (Run!) is rushed through in a single chapter (30 pages).
The open end I can learn to live with, but this rush job? I have a hard time accepting it.