The Rapture

ONE

Hot? I snorted. He needs glasses. 

I didn't respond. I pretty much messed the date up the moment I showed up fifteen minutes late. I had sprinted to the table, my backpack of notes and art slung over my shoulder, tripping over my feet and bumping into chairs. Pretty typical of me.

My tardiness was not entirely my fault, though. Law enforcement blocked streets off, making my journey tedious. Lots of protests going on and whatnot. I forgot I was supposed to meet Flynn at five at the only open restaurant in the city.

My podcast took longer to get through; I was tackling the topic of aliens, of which the government just fessed up to their existence—the crème de la crème of material for an internet personality and an investigative journalist such as myself.

So, yeah, aliens were real. The public's response was panic.

Two nights ago, I got hold of an astrophysicist looking into cases of UAP's, also known as Unidentified Aerial Phenomena. He was trying to provoke UAP's to appear by... well, launching explosives into the sky. Guy had some major balls.

Like two tons per nut kind of balls. 

He brought along with him equipment specialists, geologists, other journalists, the whole works. He took me to some secluded ranch out in the middle of nowhere. One thing led to another...

And all of them ended up in the hospital in a catatonic state.

Except for me.

An icy shiver went down my spine at the memory of that night, along with the urge to expel my rosemary chicken and oven-roasted asparagus all over the table. The booms, the bright lights of the explosives, the strange interference with our radios... then the radiation meters going off like crazy. Way above normal background levels, too.

Then the voice. The voice I heard just before passing out...

Why can't I remember what it said to me? The voice was urgent like it was warning me. For a brief moment inside the chaos, the voice made me feel safe. Protected. Then it was gone like a fleeting breeze.

Maybe the stress of the situation had me imagining it? Ever since that night, the feeling of being watched was unshakable. Even in the comfort of my crappy, single bedroom run-down apartment. 

Shivering, I fiddled with the end of my sleeve, waiting for him to just get up and go already. 

This whole idea was stupid. The world was going bonkers and here I was having a date. People said I was pretty, but I never really believed them. Maybe that was the only reason why he said yes. 

Looks weren't everything, obviously. 

I looked out of the window to my left, eyes zeroing in on my car parked below. Police officers were setting up more roadblocks and barricades. The way out of here would not be easy. Drat.

"Yeah," I whispered, trying to seem apologetic. "Sorry, I have a bit of an excited personality and no filter. Have you seen me online? Watched any of my stuff?"

"I have."

Well, okay, so why was he surprised? I looked into his eyes and raw disappointment flooded my brain like a toxin. He was a good-looking film student and had black, shaggy hair and a lean build. He was hot and refined in his tailored black dress shirt, too. 

 I didn't even have a chance because of my personality. Ever since I basically got canceled for showing my ass online—regrettably—in a drunk rant about the Pentagon's declassified documents, my friends ghosted me.