They

   They came in the night. We never knew from where. They just appeared, as if they had sprung fully grown from the sky itself. We looked up and there they were, their thin metal ships glinting in the sunlight like giant icicles. Perhaps if we had had some sort of warning, some inkling of their imminent arrival, we could have prepared. As it was, we were caught wanting.

Then again, what could we have done? We were overwhelmed so easily and so completely. Would knowing have changed that? Would advance knowledge have changed our fate, or would it simply have provided us with a foreshadowing of our own doom? In the end, was there anything that we could have done differently, or was the outcome already set in stone?

The night they arrived had been clear and still, one of those nights where the sky seems to stretch on forever. Every star appeared to be shining just for us.

In truth, their twinkling lights were a path leading straight to our door. Even as they appeared to cast their seductive beauty down upon us, they worked to betray us to our enemies.

I had retired early that evening. My work at the time was rewarding, yet it was also demanding. Some days, the activity would whirl around me like a tempest. I would rush from crisis to crisis with nary a moment's rest. Those days were exhilarating, but they would leave me exhausted by the time I was done. Afterwards, I would arrive home in the evening, unable to exert myself any longer. My life force spent, I would collapse on the sofa as soon as I came through the front door. There I would stay until sleep came upon me.

My family had long ago learned to accommodate me when I was in this state. Their own lives continued around me as if I existed in a bubble, our interaction limited to their futile attempts at getting me to eat. I would try to placate them by acquiescing to their wishes, but all I could manage was a few nibbles here and there.

Still, such instances were rare. On the whole, my life existed in a state of chaotic perfection. I could not help but recognize how lucky I had been thus far. Even on those days when my energy would fail, I was still filled with a boundless sense of purpose and gratification that could not be overwhelmed. Exhausted I might be, but never defeated, never sad.

I had been a surgeon, a healer. My days had been dedicated to making a difference in people's lives, to easing their suffering. Now, we all suffered. Now, there was nothing more I could do for anyone.

In the bedroom that my wife and I shared, I had been half asleep when I first felt the rumbling. At that point, I had attributed the vibrations to a truck going by in the street. In my state of partial consciousness, I dismissed the sensation and resolved to go back to sleep.

Five minutes later, I was jolted awake. Instead of fading, the rumbling had become louder, more insistent. At the same time, I could feel everything around me vibrating. On the table beside my bed, objects began to move about. A vase full of flowers fell from my wife's dresser, crashing to the floor. The entire house seemed ready to shake loose from the foundations.

Within seconds, my wife and two children appeared in the bedroom door. With fear in their eyes, they looked to me as if I had answers, as if I was not just as confused as they were by what was happening. Still, their distress galvanized me into action.

My first thought was that we were not safe upstairs. It's strange the random details that come to mind during a crisis. Though I had never experienced an earthquake, I had read of them happening in other places. The one detail that I could recall with absolute clarity was the risk of the house collapsing around us. In urgency, I literally pushed my entire family back out the door and down the stairs. From there, unfortunately, the plan was less clear. Was a wall the best place to seek refuge, or the worst? Frozen, I glanced around with a growing sense of desperation, unsure what our next steps should be.