Open the Heavens

Prologue

The beginning of the dream was lovely—not unusual, and always a welcome thing.  The visions that came to John Bryant while he slept were always more vivid than those he experienced awake.

In tonight’s dream he found himself flying over a calm, infinite ocean.  And although he could not see the rest of his body, he had the sensation of holding his arms outstretched, of being well-supported in the cool air, and of that same air buffeting his face in a way that was bracing without being harsh.  Yet, most powerful of all, was his sense of moving very, very fast.  John’s heart pounded; the blood in his veins thundered; his nerve endings danced with electricity.

Both below and before him lay vast still waters no doubt bitter with salt, yet sweetened by the golden hue of a sun peeking shyly over the far horizon.  That sun’s face—wreathed by clouds resembling huge pink rose blossoms—shone over a sea far too sedate to reflect any large body of water on Earth, John imagined.  But accuracy was unimportant here.  The tiny ripples of this kind and radiant sea glinted in the sunlight:  millions of tiny pyramids, disappearing and reappearing, under faint, salt-scented breaths of wind.

In moments John had spotted the first dolphin:  a single one plunging through the water ahead of him, back and dorsal fin shining briefly in the sunlight each time before it dove again, the muscular tail fluke swishing from side to side.  It was a creature sculpted from dreams and joy and seawater, bounding into the air, then back into the water; never deviating in its course, never slowing or despairing, up again, down again, and yet, in spite of the animal’s speed, John was overtaking it; up again, down again, one last time and then the marvelous beast was gone, lost somewhere behind him.

But that was all right.  John saw many more of its brother and sister dolphins ahead.  How many he could not tell; it was too easy to double or triple-count the same one, especially from his vantage point, so he didn’t try.  He was content to enjoy them as they swept on, towards the subdued and gentle sun.

For it was towards that sun they were leading him; and now John understood he had no control over the direction in which he flew; that he was merely following a route this pod of magical dolphins had set for him; that they would guide his course wherever he was supposed to go. 

Might his destination be the heart of the sun, then?

Something else he realized.  At first John had thought he was looking at a sunrise.  Now, after studying the light over the sea, he realized he was heading towards a sunset—which, of course, would make more sense.  He was traveling toward that span of time when day surrendered to night; when light gave way to darkness.  And as soon as John arrived at this conclusion, the sea vanished, taking its splendid dolphins with it; suddenly he was no longer flying but standing still, barefoot, on soft dark earth.

Unfolding before him now was a grand bazaar at dusk, a hub of simple but passionate commerce, vibrant with conversation, spirited argument, and bargaining in a language John did not know; a market filled with people, all of them in a hurry to do as much business as they could before night fell across this Middle Eastern or perhaps South Asian town.  Attempting to survey the area, John discovered that even the slightest shift in his vision revealed a new vista, for following a slight turn of his head he was standing in the middle of a narrow, well-lit street hemmed in by bars and shops selling beach towels and backpacks and other vacation gear, which afforded a glimpse of the ocean at the very end of it; surrounding him were raucous young Britons, mainly college students John gathered, with a smattering of Spanish speakers; maybe this was some resort village on the coast of Spain, or on Ibiza or Majorca.  Looking again to the north John saw brawny, stern-faced men sawing down great trees in the shadow of immense snow-capped mountains; looking to the east, he beheld a celebration, crowded streets made graced with red lanterns, strings of firecrackers, and decorations made from plum blossoms and narcissus flowers and chrysanthemums.

It’s as if I’m standing in the middle of the world, John thought, and prepared to shift his vision once more, wondering what new vista would appear when he did.

But then, inexplicably, there was no one:  the celebration vanished; the trees were left half-cut, abandoned; the decorated streets were vacant; the bazaar was empty.  Not a single human being was to be seen anywhere, no matter which way John looked.

That was not the only difference.  The sky had changed too.

Above each newly deserted landscape loomed an identical confluence of dark clouds, different from those that brought rain; these clouds were more like smoke, as if the sky through which they now spread was smoldering.

And, as the sky darkened, John felt the ground below his feet tremble, then shake, then rock.  Yet he remained steady, upright.

How could he not, when there was so much more for him to see?

A powerful, unyielding wind rose, and in the face of that wind every structure, not just buildings and bridges, not just roads and vehicles, but trees, hills, mountains, simply came apart.  There was no other way to say it.  They blew to pieces as if made of dust; as if the forces that bound the molecules of the matter together had ceased to exist.  All around John was the dust of civilization, not being blown away, he realized, but vacuumed up, devoured by an insatiable force.  The planet came apart beneath him; rocks were torn away, yet he did not fall, just saw dirt and stone swept out from under him, joining the great sandstorm that had once been the world.  He was removed then, able to see the last moments of the disintegrating Earth as it was drawn into an even greater whirlwind—this one composed not just of planetary debris, but of star matter and light, and all of it being swept into a vortex burning bright, but somehow, John sensed, not for long.  Planets, stars, and then whole galaxies disappeared into the maelstrom.  In seconds the shining vortex had consumed all that was left, after which it simply winked out, leaving only darkness, a cold unending void—and the soft echo of a plea John remembered well, spoken in a voice long ago rendered silent:   

“Forgive me.”

***

John woke up; woke up to frogs serenading him from pools of black water, swollen in the aftermath of several days’ rain, that riddled the woods beside his home; woke up to a night breeze that drifted off the nearby marshlands, bringing coolness and a hint of salt through his open bedroom windows; woke up and lay there in the midnight gloom, waiting for his breathing to return to normal, for his heart rate to slow down.

“No,” he whispered finally.  “I can’t forgive you.”