I tie up my hair in front of the long mirror and twist to take a good look at my figure. I smile slyly at my now slim body, tall and elegant. Dancing and exercise have done me plenty good. I observe my long, wavy auburn hair with large hazel eyes that are speckled with bright gold. Long fingers are adorned with three thin, inexpensive but very important rings, and small feet have their toenails painted a jolly pink. I admire myself and turn around, towards my work table. Scattered all over the wooden bench are books and papers, lying in a haphazard manner which is totally my style. A laptop snoozes precariously in one corner of the table while pens and pencils laze in the mess. A lonely eraser with a smile etched painfully into its face hides under a couple of sheets of rough notes.
I sigh and move to the table to clear it. My phone pings on the bed and I gladly jump towards the distraction. Suddenly, the window right next to the soft bed seems to brighten. Still holding up the phone, I look at the round ball of light glowing through the window. It is definitely not the sun. Nor is it an illusion.
The something becomes larger and rounder as it spreads its harsh light into the city. It still seems far away, so I bend closer to the window to take a video. I wonder what it might be and turn on the camera. The video continues to record, and the grounded ball continues to grow.
About ninety seconds into the video, the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I know something is going to go wrong, something is wrong. I back away from the window, but it is too late. The ground begins to slide under my feet as I fall backwards. The glass panes of the closed window shatter, scattering sharp glass into the small room. The floor, the building, my very soul begins to shake, but that is not the worst of it.
As I hit my head on the cold floor a large shard of glass enters my left eye. The fall knocks the wind out of me, and time seems to stop as pain wallows me. The entire left side of my head begins to throb, and I scream — at least, I try to. A shock wave presses me into the ground and pushes me to the back wall of the room, where the ajar door swings open. I crash into the edge of the door frame, holding my bloody left eye and screaming in anguish. Tears run down my good eye as I swerve hard and tumble down the stairs to the landing.
Every thud, every hit jolts my body and sends a shot of pain through my head. My bloody and bruised hands fight to hold my eye and to remove the glass piece still stuck in it. Sprawled on the cold wooden landing, I slowly try to sit up. With shaking hands I steady myself, staining the wood with blood and tears. My cuts and bruises begin to throb as the ground continues to shake. My left eye is open, for I cannot close it with the shard in it. The thought of removing it makes me shiver, so I let it stay. My head still pains and my eye still burns, but I look around, wondering what happened. The entire left side of my sight is blackened out, the shift in the quality of my vision is blurred. Before I can register the sequence of events, the ground begins to shake even more, and I hear loud crashing. I look up, and through the still ajar door I see my work table — now empty of items — falling down the stairs.
Towards me.
I try to scramble away but my damaged body is too slow. The table becomes larger and larger as it thunders down towards me. My ears ring with the loud sounds and my head throbs even more. Pain shoots through my body as the table hits me, legs first. Every piece of wood seems to dent me, and the impact makes me swoon. Complete darkness envelopes my vision, and I see no more.
—:—
A large something bears down on my chest. Breath caught, I try to shift out from under the object. Eyes still closed, I jerk backwards, hoping the movement helps. But I instantly hit my head on a hard surface, sending more shots of pain through the already throbbing brain. I open my eyes, both of them. Everything is still dark in front of me. I use my stiff hands to push the object off my chest, and try to sit up. But this time I reach an arm out above me to avoid another impact. It helps, for I feel a thin wooden plank just above where I'm lying down. I push it away, and a slight beam of light enters the hollow where I'm stuck. I know I can make it out of there, so I push harder.
After quite the amount of painful effort I manage to clear all the rubble off of me. I stand up slowly, dusting off my ruined clothes. The right side of my vision is slightly blurry because of tears and pain, but the left side is just a reddish void. Blinded in one eye, I think, making my way carefully over the large concrete pieces covering the terrain. Grey concrete with chipped paint is everywhere, and thin rays of sunlight filter through the dust in the air. Nothing around me is recognizable as the cozy flat I used to live in. Over to the left towards the end of the destroyed building I can see the edge of my once messy table poking through the even larger mess. I sigh and dust my clothes again, though to no avail.
What even happened? I think. I faintly remember the growing ball of light, and the sudden, sweeping shockwave. It had to be a blast of some sort, but I can't be sure. My head still thumps....
I decide to walk out of the rubble-covered area and venture to see the fate of the others. I cannot see any other residents of the apartment around, so I assume they must have gotten up and left, just like I am.
I carefully navigate over the cement, iron bars and glass, and clear out some of the last remaining rubble blocking my view of the outside. What I see is not what I expect. The devastation is massive. Buildings just like mine are now but piles of useless material, and shattered glass shines on the tarmac. Blood runs down the road in large, thick streams. Here and there, I see aching people scramble out of what could have been their grave, and others lying on the road — either passed out or dead. Children with glassy eyes scream for their parents, crying onto the cold cement pieces. Yet an eerie silence shrouds over the destroyed neighborhood. The hot, unforgiving sun blazes over the ruins, brightening a dark time.
I slowly and painfully walk out onto the streets. The glass under my bare feet crackles and punctures my feet, but the pain is nothing compared to what I experienced earlier. I walk on, placing my rough palms on the children's shoulders and backs to calm them. I slowly walk towards a clearing with minimal rubble and ask the children to sit there while I look for the others. They stare after me, tired and hungry, as I help clear the rubble and get people out of dangerous holes. My body still aches, but the relief on people's faces as they finally escape their possible doom is worth all the effort. They gather in groups slowly, and ask each other what happened. No one seems to know, everyone is confused.
I am completely drained by the time all the people have been salvaged. No more faint cries for help can be heard. The palpable silence is rarely broken, and always by more rubble slowly slipping over its pile. I walk back to what used to be my home. I do not expect to find any traces of life there, and I do not. I sit down on one of the small mountains of concrete, aching and tired. Hunger and thirst wash over me as I get time to reflect on my own state. My head throbs faster, and the left side of my vision gets darker. I place a hand down to steady myself, and something crunches under my palm.
It's my mirror. A large chunk of it, though dusty and cracked, has survived. I look at my dirty reflection and gasp. My face is filled with cuts and bruises, but there is one feature that shock me the most. My left cheek and neck are caked with dried blood — from my punctured eye. Flat and red, it is glassy from the tears and sightlessness. It looks hideous and lifeless, showing no emotion. The grotesque sight makes me shiver.
The children saw that when I gathered them.
I look at my face a little longer, wondering how I survived whatever happened. In the short time I have before we set out to explore for other survivors, I merely sit and think. What about those that hadn't survived? Where were they when the blast happened? How much pain did they feel before their bodies gave up a losing fight? Did they think this would happen? I looked at the glowing streets in front of me.
What would the orphaned children do? This memory would remain fresh in their minds for at least three more years. Would their brains be able to handle the PTSD?
Suddenly, I sat up straight. It looked like the tarmac just rippled. Was I hallucinating? Why did the road look like it had a film of something on it? I decided to get up and investigate. Wounds opened up again as I slid down the pile, too weak to climb down now. Leaving a small trail of blood behind me, I walked out into the open once more, where silence still reigned. But it was an interrupted silence — broken by the sound of pattering. The road below me was wet. It was raining.
I look up at the sky. Dark clouds of gas have gathered, and the rain that falls is dark too. That could have been an illusion, only it wasn't. The rain falls on my tattered clothes. Small black spots appear where the drops fall, staining my ruined top and jeans. I frown. This isn't the kind of rain that is expected.
This is apocalyptic rain.
I see some children running around into puddles, splashing innocently. Others limp for cover, scared by the color of the liquid. It is unnatural, unreal. Adults, too, look confused and worried, but mostly unafraid. That is, until we feel our wet skin beginning to burn.
I run for scarce protection from the toxic liquid. Collecting into puddles at my feet, it smokes slightly, letting out a pungent stench. All the others I can see walk towards the last standing structures for shelter as well. The children who were so happily splashing now wail in agony, tears of regret and confusion flowing down their dirty cheeks. What is this substance? My skin continues to burn, and I can see that everyone else's does as well. The adults rub their bare skin to relieve the pain, but to no avail. One by one, they fall to the ground, writhing in silent anguish.
I try to blow on my skin too, but I know it will not work. My cuts flare up and my head begins to feel light. I drop to my knees, soundlessly screaming on the inside. My entire body heats up, too battered to be any more resilient. Everything from my scalp to my sole burns, and I feel like a thousand flames envelope my body. Nothing seems to work — rolling on the unforgiving ground, blowing, rubbing, screaming.
My eyes shut tight, I twist my body, trying to find a position of peace. But none remains. I know that I am finished, and so is everyone else. The cuts, the bruises, the pain — nothing was worth it. My vision blurs as I open my eyes again, and try to lay without moving. I look directly at the people in pain across the street, struggling with the same invisible fire.
A feeling of surrender washes over me. I know that I did my best, that I helped when I needed help. I know that this is the end, that beyond this is relief from all this pain. I am in complete and total surrender. In my last moments of chaos, I turn around, facing the rubble. A small white object lies on its side in front of me.
It is my eraser.
It smiles at me.
It says hello from the other side.
I stare at it, my vision darkening on the edges.
As I slowly go, I stare at my creation.
A smile.
- Anonymous