I met Alexander on an online classical music forum when I was twelve. He was eleven, and we were both musical prodigies.

Although Alexander lived in St. Petersburg and I in New York, we became friends. Not only did we understand each other in a way others could not, but we pushed each other musically—

To a point.

Because by the time we entered high school, it had already become clear to me Alexander was special even among prodigies. Our technical skills may have been equivalent, but he possessed an unteachable visionary quality I had never seen before: a singular madness!

When he emailed me years later to say he was working on a piano concerto to end the world, I believed him.

- - -

They thought me insane when I suggested it, but what I wouldn't give to see their faces now, as we are already more than halfway finished the ascent, and not even the unexpected snows have managed to turn us back or even delay us! Everything goes according to plan, although I admit I am purposefully keeping these entries short for the bitter cold attacks my fingers mercilessly at this high altitude in the Himalayas, and I must not allow any stupidities now. We must continue. We must!

—Alexander S., Journals (Vol. III)

- - -

A reporter dressed in anorak, hat and gloves, struggles to speak into his microphone against the prevailing wind.

Reporter: ...as you might see behind me, the avant-garde Russian composer is personally leading this train of Sherpas up the mountain, to where he plans in a week's time to premiere his third and final piano concerto in what he is calling "apocalypse music" and others an ill-advised publicity stunt.

- - -

We almost lost a cello [illegible] the abyss [...] not even God can stop us now.

—Alexander S., Journals (Vol. III)

- - -

Did I keep up with the news? Yes, like most of the world. It's difficult to believe but a classical news story was the top headline. The news people are always thirsty for a tragedy, and they felt one here. They just predicted the wrong kind of tragedy.

- - -

Badly stabilized footage from a helicopter, finally focussing on a snowy mountain peak on which a small orchestra has been set up.

A figure moving.

Reporter: Zoom in. That's him.

The figure sits behind a piano. [Static] The first notes of a musical composition—

- - -

It was a work of unquestionable genius.

- - -

Bedlam in an unidentified city. Collapsing skyscrapers, shrieking crowds. Military vehicles roll by.

- - -

[Phone footage]

Tanks in the foreground.

A mountain in the background, around whose peak fighter planes buzz like insects as a gelatinous bubble begins to expand, vaporizing the planes on contact…

Unidentified Speaker: Oh God!

The bubble grows and grows until it reaches the phone camera—

- - -

Do I ever listen to the concerto? No. It's still too painful. I knew many of the four billion who died, but I still hear it sometimes in my head. The notes...

Inevitable really.