I love the smell of scandal in the morning.

As i stepped out into the morning's cool embrace like i had done so many times before, an indescribable feeling of loss and unfamiliarity swept over me as a broom would an autumn leaf collage. After a quick examination of my surroundings and a light scan of my memory bank, i realised this sensation was coming from a foreign, yet suddenly life-threatening variable. It was as if i was still the same person, but something terrible had occurred on a universal scale, something that not only affected me on a personal level, but an event of such immense proportion that it had momentarily paused space and time and threatened to send the human race into a downward spiral of conflict and eternal damnation. I felt sick to my stomach as the contents from last night's meal threatened to flee my digestive tract, somehow excusing itself of the moral implications i soon found myself contemplating. I slumped against the cold brick wall of the carport in a sweaty, trembling mess and in one fell swoop the truth hit me like a tonne of the very bricks that were supporting me.

Michael Clarke and Lara Bingle are no longer together.

I awoke to the sounds of chaos and human suffering, the rushed drumming of high heels and leather oxfords on a background of assorted cries for help. Most of the surrounding buildings were now ablaze, the light downpour of unsent faxes a ghastly reminder of human reflex in the face of danger, abandonment of all hope and a single, overpowering instinct for survival. Smoke entered my lungs and nostrils with no remorse as it reduced the once almighty sun to a faint downlight in the black noon sky. My visibility was minimal, an ironic benefit as i was blinded to the omnipresent desperation and fear that had attacked the peace so stealthily, so ruthlessly. The faint scratching of an abandoned car's stereo carved it's way through the surrounding ruckus and pierced my ear as if to deliver a message constructed only for my awareness. It was an Australian accent, not unlike the rambling, truth-dodging rhetoric of our Prime Minister.

"...in the wake of this tragedy.....imperative...remain calm....do not leave your.....once again...confirmed......Bingle.....Clarke have......separated"

The pieces, while broken, formed a crystal clear picture of the truth. Cricket star Michael Clarke and supposed model Lara Bingle had divorced, bringing with them the apocalypse and the most historically significant event ever to occur during our time on this planet. The thought of tribes gathered around campfires and telling the story of this fateful day brushed my conscience, the concept of future generations existing after this providing some relief in the face of impending doom and the collapse of our society. Voices broke my daydream, they were frantic, yet somewhat assertive and echoed reason amongst overwhelming surrender.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, BRENDON FEVOLA TOOK A PHOTO OF HER IN THE SHOWER AND IT SURFACED JUST THE OTHER DAY" a middle aged man announced.

"WAS SHE NUDE?" another, younger voice bellowed.

"APPARENTLY. AS IT SEEMS, MICHAEL CLARKE CAN'T PLAY CRICKET ANYMORE, HIS CAPTAINCY WAS QUESTIONED AND HE ACTED OUT OF ANGER!" the middle aged man replied.

"SO THEY'RE NOT TOGETHER ANYMORE? WHY DIDN'T SHE JUST DELETE THE PHOTO?" queried the young man.

"LOOK AROUND YOU MAN! DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A WORLD WHERE MICHAEL CLARKE AND LARA BINGLE ARE TOGETHER!? IT'S THE END OF EXISTENCE, THE PALE HORSE HAS STRUCK HUMANITY WITH THE SHARP SCYTHE OF THE APOCALYPSE. FORGET THE PHOTO AND LARA BINGLE, OUR MAIN CONCERN NOW IS SCRAMBLING TOGETHER WHAT LITTLE BIT OF LIFE WE ALL HAVE LEFT!! WE MUST TAKE TO THE OCEAN AND BIDE OUR TIME UNTIL THIS ALL BLOWS OVER!!" the middle aged man concluded.

The two men brushed past me, their intention to preserve life an almost selfish ambition amidst the scores perishing around them. The ocean i pondered. When all else fails, look to the ocean. With my last ounce of strength, i wiped the dust from my face with blood-soaked hands. I stared at them for a moment, the focus leaving my sight in waves of blurriness and nausea, the fatigue becoming almost too much to bear. Life or death, the decision a man should never had to make was now the only certainty in my thought process. As i scanned the once bustling metropolis that was our city for one last time, taking in what i could withstand through the thick smoke, i became aware of my destiny.

It's one thing to prosper in the face of death and destruction, but a world where Michael Clarke and Lara Bingle are separated is a world not worth rebuilding.