This is not how I imagined the world would end. I never dreamed that as the heaven's collapsed, I would be watching the stars fall from behind the stained window of a dusty chapel. I never imagined that as tremors shook the floor beneath my fated feet an elderly stranger would cling my hand.
And yet the stars fall.
One by one they fall from the heavens, the priest, a mere stranger gripping my hand, and I watch shards of the sky drop through the jagged patches in the stained glass mosaics.
The end is beautiful.
I always imagined the end of the world to be terrifying and ghastly, yet it's beautiful. As the stars fall the tar-like blackness of the sky is illuminated by searing stars. It's as if the twinkling stars in the heavens got tired of twinkling and decided to blast instead.
The priest beside me lurches and clutches my hand tighter as the impact of the latest star jolts the earth and shakes the chapel which we shiver in. The sirens and speakers blaring across uptown New York inform us that the lastest star has obliterated China. About 2/3rds of the world's population has now been wiped out by the stars.
The priest beside me mutters prayers and recites the Psalms to himself in a feverish state. The wrinkles around his eyes crinkle painfully as tears leak from his fearful eyes.
"Can I ask you a question sir?" I whisper, my quiet voicing echoing around the deserted chapel.
He glances up, his wrinkled watery eyes meeting my empty gaze.
"Of course my child, what is it?" He asks, his calm voice not matching the panic in his eyes.
"What are you so afraid of that you cry so? Are you not a religious man? Do you not know where you're going after death?"
"I am, I do. I cry because I have grandchildren and they must be so scared."
I feel a wave of sympathy drench me.
"They are believers." He continues. "They will be safe now, or shortly, I just wish they didn't have to die in this way."
We sat in eerie silence then. The faint buzzing of alarms and radios blaring in the distance.
A glaring white light fills the sky. The priest and I look up simultaneously, we know what is to come. The star approaches. This will be the end.
"I hope you find your grandchildren in the afterlife, sir." I say softly, gripping the old man's hand, a fear of my own mounting.
"Thank you. I hope to see you there too."
"I-" my speech is cut off as the world goes white in a flash of starlight.
Somewhere in Africa a sad radioman announces "America has been destroyed. The rain of stars continues."
YOU ARE READING
The Rain of StarsShort Story
"This is not how I imagined the world would end. I never dreamed I would be watching the stars fall in a dusty chapel surrounded by shards of stained glass with an elderly stranger holding my hand. And yet the stars fall."