The end?

       It has been 42 days since the beginning of the end of the world.

             Well, that’ s what everyone says. I should really say, it’s been 42 days since the sun disappeared. And 34 days since my parents left.

             They were supposed to be gone three days.

             “We’ll be back soon,” they promised.

             “We’ll be perfectly safe,” they assured me.

             “We’re only going around to see if anyone knows what’s happening,” they explained.

             “So why,” I asked them, “can’t I come with you?”

             “You need to stay here to take care of the animals,” they told me. “You know how the chickens get when no one comes to see them.”

             Yes, I did know. So I believed them. I waved them goodbye, pretending now to notice their strained smiles that did not reach their eyes. I fed the chickens, the cows and pigs and horses, everyday, until the food ran out. The monthly delivery never came. I myself ate meager meals, just enough to keep my strength up, trying to make the resources last as long as I could. I went into the fields with a single flashlight and bucket, trying to find leftover straw from harvest, trying my best to save the animals. I considered trying to find my way to town, to see if there was any feed left at the tack store, but I never would have made it on foot and in the dark, and I had no idea if there were even people there anymore.

So, I sat by and watched my beloved animals get slower and slower, sicker and sicker, until I could see my horses’ ribs and the chickens didn’t stir when I walked into the coop. All the while, feeling guilty that I still had food in my stomach, but knowing that if I used the already dwindling food supply from the house, it would be gone in an instant, and then where would I be?

And so, I said goodbye to Eva, to Belinda, to Hammy (named when I was seven. I refused to let Mom or Dad slaughter her. It didn’t make a difference now). I stopped going out to the barn or pastures, except to get pails of water, and even then I kept my flashlight trailed on the ground. There was no way I’d be able to move the cows or horses by myself in order to bury them, so they stayed where they were. I didn’t let myself think about it.

When I realized they were going to die anyway, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should kill some of the chickens for food, but I didn’t. I would rather starve then eat my beloved animals.

Every day that passed and still, my parents didn’t show up, I got more and more worried. In the first days of darkness, people would come by the farm. Some where from town, or from neighbouring farms, or even a few from other states, and they all had stories and ideas of their own. One of them claimed to have seen the sun drop from the sky. Some said that the moon was in front of it, covering it. Some (the ones more prone to conspiracy theories) were absolutely sure that it was all set up by the government in an attempt to force us into submission. For some, it was the rapture, or global warming. One even said it was a supernatural being that had stolen the sun, in an attempt to create world turmoil (if that was the case, it was definitely working). As the days wore on, the number of people who came got smaller and smaller, until eventually, no one came at all.

I didn’t know what to believe, and neither did Mom or Dad. That’s why they left. To get answers. And now I know even less than I did before.

“We’ll be back in three days,” they said. “We promise.”

“Three days, yeah right,” I muttered under my breath as I ate a bowl of dry cereal, probably for one of the last days. My food supply was getting increasingly lower. When I was done, I put my bowl back in the cupboard (I couldn’t afford to use any water for washing dishes) and grabbed my flashlight and jacket. After putting it on, I tucked my Swiss army knife into my back pocket. You never know.  

I grabbed the empty bucket from the counter and stepped out the backdoor. When the sun went out, the electricity and water did too, so I’d been forced to walk to the well to get water. The dry grass crinkled under my feet as I walked along the barely-illuminated path to the well. I shivered, both from the cold, and at how eery the farm felt. Ever since the animals died, I felt this impending sense of doom. Everything was different, and I was just sitting here, waiting for something to happen, when I think I knew, deep down, nothing would.

I picked up my speed. Not only was it freezing, even with a jacket on, but I wanted to get back to the house as soon as possible. I was almost at the well when my flashlight lit up something that hadn’t been there yesterday. Hesitantly, I stepped closer. At first glance, it had looked like a big rock, but as I got closer and my flashlight shone on it directly, I realized it wasn’t a rock.

It was a hat.

It was Dad’s hat.

My heart pounded in my chest as I became attuned to every sound around me. Every crinkle of a leaf, every chirp or a bird or sound from a grasshopper, I jumped. Hand shaking, I reached out and picked up Dad’s hat.

             He was wearing this when he left. Which must mean… I spun around in every direction, shining my flashlight on every patch of darkness, but nothing, no signs anyone had been here.

             Heart racing, I sprinted back to the house, forgetting all about the water I was supposed to get. I found an old hiking bag in the closet and filled it with all the supplies I thought I could possibly need: all the rest of the food packages (which, let’s be honest, wasn’t much), flashlights and extra batteries, warm clothes, water bottles, a sleeping bag.

             The hat must be a sign. I have to stop being scared. I have to take matters into my own hands. I have to stop sitting around waiting for other people to make things happen. I have to find my parents, myself.

             I stepped out the front door, Dad’s hat on my head and flashlight in my hand. Whether or not I found them, whether or not I figured out what happened, whether or not I even made it down the road, I was done being a bystander. I was ready to make things happen.