significant moments are not supposed to happen on tuesdays. tuesdays are neither the beginning of the week, nor the end or middle. tuesdays are dull, uneventful shadows of mondays and should never be labeled as something as daunting or terrifically terrifying as "the worst day of my existence." but bad news doesn't care what day of the week it is or whether or not you're busy skipping school or lying in bed staring at the horrible popcorn ceiling; bad news has no concept of anything outside of its own sorry realm of negativity and that's just the way it is.
so, as careless and unforgiving as it is, the universe hands luna archer and the population of planet earth a death sentence on a tuesday evening. the world falls silent as the news is delivered, countless solemn voices speaking a hundred different languages, all informing the population that even forever has an expiration date. and it feels like something out of a movie, really, to be told that something as ridiculous as an asteroid is mere weeks away from destroying the only home luna has ever known, but her heart is racing and her skin is burning and this isn't supposed to be real but it is.
the dark-haired girl clasps one small, ring-clad hand over her mouth to replace the words that are stuck between her lungs and mouth. she's only seventeen and twenty-three days is not nearly enough time for her to decide that seventeen years is enough. she feels her grandmother yank on her sleeve when he stands up, but the pounding of her heart in her ears is enough to drown out her familiar, sing-song voice that used to chase the monsters away.
luna's eyesight is blurry and her stomach is twisting and her fingers are shaking as she walks away from the man on the television, her grandma giving up on calling her back. fingers fumbling for the doorknob, she eventually manages to open the heavy front door and take a breath of fresh air. twilight is usually her favourite time of the day, but tonight it just reminds her of the inevitable darkness that comes with a never-ending universe.
not bothering to close the door, she quickly rushes over to the familiar porch steps of her neighbour's house, knowing her best friend is somewhere inside. her knocks arrive erratically at the chipping red door, her knuckles immediately sore from the unintentional force put behind them. it could be seconds or hours before the door opens, but all luna can grasp at the moment is that the tall, blonde-haired boy she calls her best friend has his arms around her; one hand on the back of her neck, cradling her against his shoulder.
the end of the world presses heavily against their sternums and the most human thing they can manage is to cry.