The Last Thirty Seconds

A blinding white light envelops the sky as if all the lightning that had ever struck the earth had become apparent at once. Buildings and streets are rapidly ingested by the immediate blanket of light. The horizon disintegrates shortly after and for a time there is silence. Everything is peaceful. It is so bright that nothing can be seen or perceived. No darkness can escape the power of this light. Shadows do not form, until they are all that remain.  

Like a star falling from the heavens, it was so graceful and silent yet so terrifying. There had been murmurs about the incoming attack. Whispers throughout the city, messages left in code to warn us. Papers had fallen from the sky telling us to evacuate. The dates had said the attack would come yesterday. The dates had been wrong. We had been warned but we did not listen. We stayed and nothing came. It was not until we saw the missile falling from the sky that we had realized our error. Our most fatal error. 

The blinding light fades slowly and I begin to regain a semblance of vision. I can perceive the horizon in the distance. A cloud rapidly sprouts from the horizon and proliferates as if the sky had become a carcinogen acting upon it. The cloudscape extends upwards and culminates in a bulbous mushroom head as the center expands outward in a shape akin to Saturn's rings. It is the darkness within the light. 

The first thought that fills my head is not fear. I try to remember the faces of my family members and closest friends. I think I should try to remember every moment that is important to me but everything escapes me. There is nothing I can think of but the light.  

I have always loved the light. Every moment I could spend in the sun was a moment I treasured. Just the appearance of light makes everything more enjoyable. Everything is visible and obvious. Everything is known. It gives life to all it touches. Every bird, every flower, every person we have ever known needs light to survive like we need air to breathe.  

I can only think of the irony of the situation. The light that I have grown to love, the giver of life, will soon be taking so many for its own. The light gives and the light takes away. 

A boom sounds from the explosion and reverberates through the air like thunder had been bottled and let free within my skull. It is the loudest sound I will ever hear. I know this for certain. I look to my grandmother beside me and she begins to cry. She speaks and I cannot hear her but I can understand: 

“Everyone is dead. This is the end of the world” 

I know her words to be true. This is the end.  

The light begins to fade into darkness. Even though it signifies my end, there is still some comfort within its inherent warmth and certainty. As it disappears, I am overcome by an immense and overpowering fear. I am standing but I feel as if I am floating. I know that I still exist but everything has become light. I can see the oncoming darkness as the mushroom clouds engulf the sun and sky. I fear this darkness more than anything. 

With the light there is an amount of certainty. There is visibility and clarity. The light’s motive is evident. The darkness, however, has unclear motives. In complete darkness nothing is as it seems. A creak in the floor is likely due to a shift in temperature or air density but it is usually attributed to a haunting or burglary in the stillness of night. A scratch at the window could signify your death or the wind gently nudging a tree branch. Nothing is certain in darkness and it is that uncertainty which frightens me the most. It is that uncertainty which has always frightened me. 

The darkness is rapidly approaching. It absorbs all light that it touches. I know that I am myself but I cannot feel anything. I am no longer present. I stare into the darkness as it wraps itself around lamps, light posts, buildings, streets and any living being within. The light may have initiated this but the darkness is seeing to its completion.  

As I stare into the darkness the fear begins to leave my body, it is sifted from my body like sand. It slowly drains from within me and I can feel my extremities once again. They feel different. I slowly sit down and feel the grass beneath me. Each blade of grass delicately slides past my fingers and I can feel each one as distinctly as if they were my own family.  

My mother and father were shopping together in the city center. They must have been gone for seconds now. It feels an eternity ago. 

Each grain of dirt falls softly from my finger tips and returns gracefully to the earth.  

I look up towards my grandmother and she has wiped the tears from her face. The expression of grief and disbelief is no longer present. She seems almost peaceful. I reach up towards her hand and she grabs mine as she sits on the grass beside me. We both look towards the darkness. 

I suppose that without darkness there would be no peace. While everything becomes unfamiliar in the dark that is part of its comfort. Nothing is as it seems. Everything becomes more.  

I look towards the oncoming darkness and it has taken upon itself a new warmth.  

I know that once the darkness reaches its destination, our end will come. 

We know that within the darkness there is only death. We do not know what comes next. It is unfamiliar to us. We do not want to die but we accept that it will come. We have always known it will come. We intertwine our hands tighter and brace ourselves for the impact. We close our eyes and embrace the darkness as it envelops us.