The storm was inbound, and there was no running from it. Astronauts were abandoning the International Space Station, groceries flew off the shelves, and every gas station in the country would be empty within minutes. The end of civilization as we knew it. The government would shut down, and most of the politicians would disappear. News stations failed to comment on the lack of response from our fearless leaders, only that they were preparing to deal with the problem. Old men had another theory, that the politicians receded into some top-secret bunker far underground where they could wait out the carnage.
Everybody remembers exactly where they were when they heard the news, and what they were doing. I was here, in this bar, nursing whiskey to relieve the pain of losing my wife. The news flash interrupted my drink, and everyone cleared out shortly after. Everyone except myself and the bartender. The sun had spit some hot gas into space, and it was headed for Earth. According to the news, we had two days to prepare for power outages. Just another over-glorified tragedy that would be over in a week or two, or so I thought. I had no idea that this would be the defining tragedy of all time. The only historical event comparable was the fall of Rome.
The news anchor claimed that when the storm hit, it would knock down our unprotected power grid, bust satellites, and could even destroy old water pipes, though he didn't explain how a cloud of star-fart would accomplish such a task.
"Pour me another."
"You got it, Bud."
YOU ARE READING
Coronal Blast
科幻This story is an experiment in tiered storytelling. Updating miniature 300-500 word fragments at a time, each of them hopefully passable as their own flash fiction element. I started this as a joint project between nano and starting my flash fiction...
