Them

Zero Day

Life was tough not long ago. Struggling to get by, paying rent with hard earned cash from a dead-end job at some grocery store. Each day the same. Get up, eat, work, sleep, repeat. It was all too depressing to keep going. But I'm fine now, everybody is fine now. I won't be thanking my psychiatrist, community or God for it. They have all been a parenthesis that couldn't do anything other than be a placebo to ease my torments. I am happy now, as I've never been before, and that's why I'm writing this. For those who come after us. To ease their fears and doubts, as any of us had that 14th of July at 3:55. For which may ail you, reader, ease your mind. The true cure arrived for each one of us. They  arrived to save us.

I was rearranging the shelves at work that day, looking at customers go back and forth the aisles. Some asked about canned peas. Others wanted beef on discount. Their lives were as processed as the food they craved. I wore my worst customer-care smile and pointed them wherever they wanted to – Looking at their back with quiet disdain. I hated my job, my colleagues. It was all too aggrieving, the condition of life that we all lived, masking our pain in pictures of books that no one ends up reading or a drink at the local bar that they picked just because "it looked pretty" but tasted like sewer waters. I hated, and I knew that I couldn't change it, but They could.

I pushed past the crowd to the glass storefront. Everyone stood there, mouths open. Mine too. Some kneeled in prayers of fear, others snapped pictures with their phones. I just looked, a smirk of joy crossing my lips. It was far above us, at the tip of the banking building two blocks across. It was pure. Not clean, not holy — just untouched, unburdened by the mess of our world.

The TVs, phones and radios suddenly blared, startling the amassed people inside the market. The national guard message shone in red and blue over the screens.

- "A threat of unknown kind befell over the whole country. People must immediately find shelter in schools, libraries, police stations and other public structures. Martial Law is in effect until cease is declared by the government." -

Chaos ensued. People ran out of their cars in a craze, looking for the nearest haven, some rushing to the market as well. They massed at the door, squeezing and pushing one another, yelling and screaming. Some got hurt, others fought, but in the end, they were all there together. Strangers communed by the primal fear in the heart of men: the unknown.

Murmurs flooded the premise. People chatted and speculated on the matter, until the Government Flash News channel tuned in on the screens. It wasn't only here. They were widespread across the globe.

They floated above the tallest peaks of earth - Skyscrapers, mountains, secular buildings - People were in disbelief. Thought to be yet the latest marketing stunts from big corporates that tried to sell their new fancy product to standardize you with the unenlightened masses.

But they weren't here to sell.

They were here to enlighten us.

Everyone looked at it. Questions bloomed in every direction – how did it arrive? When it did? What's its purpose? - We tried to understand it.

We all stayed inside in wait. Some opened packs of crisps, others served themselves with instant ramen and soda cans. A few huddled in a corner in prayers. Me? I watched it. I watched them - or was it watching me? Clouds floated towards them, gently, and as they approached, they vanished gradually. One cloud passing by its side, started disappearing, leaving only half of it floating by. I kept watching – and felt watched. A flock of birds flew into the sky, making forms and shapes in the air, and when they flew towards them, they too disappeared.

That night, none of us went home.

Sat through the aisles and checkout counters, we waited. The ceiling lights buzzed as flies on a carcass, screens above repeated the same government message over and over. Some browsed their news app, frantically refreshing their feeds in hope of news about them but only showed the same blurry footage from across the globe: All of Them, suspended in mid-air. Unmoving. Some seemed humming, a few others glimmering. Something grew louder from them – a hum, a presence - although you couldn't hear it, nor see it. You could feel it. We could feel – it.

The air was changing too. Not in temperature or humidity – something thinner, quieter – as the world itself sighed.

A child asked their mother "will it eat us?"

The mother answered no. But as her voice wavered in fear, we all could hear the lie.