The universe is over and the small gods that aren't quite gods but more akin to accountants and landlords, and so perhaps devils, have paid the physics bills and are painting the milky way a marketable beige, although the old hope is still leaking through (they have once again forgotten to call the plumber).
They turned the stars off, something about light pollution. Light is still traveling through space. An old blue planet, infested with entirely ufashionable life, has been swept into the far corner and covered with a new "no smoking" sign. The world is over, for now, but it didn't end.
Soon, with the way they placed the new shower, there will be mould on the firmament carpet, and where there's mould, there's life.
