Atlantis Fading

Not my best but I was bored and this is all I could think of to do.

TW: Mentions of abuse, death of a parent, implied suicide, and natural disasters

Our city has always been a cause for concern. It’s built too low and too close to the ocean, and with every earthquake, I worry we’ll slide in. Lia says I’m being dramatic, but with each disaster, I grow more cautious, and with every inch we move, I think about escaping. I want to leave this place, but I know that’s not an option. I’m trapped in a city no one knows about, no one cares about. No one is coming for us, and no one will miss us.

My name is Max, by the way. You can probably tell from that first paragraph that I’m a pessimist, but it’s for good reason. When you see the terrible things I’ve witnessed, you’re bound to see the worst in everything. I’m sure you’ve heard of us by now. But make no mistake: this is not a fairy tale.

The truth is, there are only happy beginnings, and not all of us even get that. My whole life has been spent in a crumbling city; every week brings a new tragedy. Lia is the only good thing in my life, but she is way too optimistic. She acts like it’s not a big deal. Maybe that’s because she hasn’t lost anyone like I have. I don’t know… I love her, but she ignores the bad to focus on the good, even when the bad is more important. I often talk about the earthquakes, and she responds, “They’re not that bad,” to which I reply, “My mom would beg to differ.” Then she just walks away. For context, my mom was crushed in the rubble of one of these disasters. My father somehow finds a way to make it my fault. It’s as if he thinks I have godlike powers and used them to kill my loving mother instead of my abusive father. Okay, I’m getting off track. The point is, my girlfriend is an optimist, I’m not, and the world is ending. Glad we’re all on the same page.

This story really starts with yet another earthquake. This one lasts a long time. The ground inches slowly toward the ocean, and this time, I can see the water rising—or are we sinking? I can’t tell. Either way, everyone’s panicking, even Lia. I immediately ran to her when it started (don’t run around outside during an earthquake). We’ve been hiding to avoid the crumbling buildings, but we keep inching closer and closer to the ocean. 

“Told you we should’ve run,” I say as I slam a door shut behind us.  

“Not the time!” she screams back. 

I’ve never seen her so scared. I watch as every building comes crashing down around us. I watch as the sun disappears, and the shadows engulf our city. I watch as the ocean grows closer. I watch as my mother's hand reaches out to me. Lia curls into me as if I can be her savior, but my hope faded a long time ago. I never had any faith in surviving this; I just wished that she would.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I say with a smile. She looks up at me, her eyes red and watery. “You always seem so positive. It’s admirable. It’s… kind of weird, honestly.” She laughs and leans back into me. “Your optimism keeps me going, keeps everyone going. But I still worry about how people will remember me. Will they look back at me as some figure of safety, the way you do? Or will they forget me altogether?”

“I don’t think anyone could ever forget you.” She moves back to look me in the eyes. “I know I act all positive, but it’s only because I’m scared. It takes a lot of bravery to look out at the world and say exactly what you see. I wish I could do that.”

“You don’t… not really.”  

“Why not? What’s wrong with being right?”  

“Everything.”

Lia and I lie hand in hand next to the shore. The ground has stopped shaking, but the water is swallowing more land than before. I wish we could be like this forever, but I know we can’t. Because she will never leave Atlantis. I will never leave her. And one day, we’re both going to die.

We fall asleep there, on that shore. I worry that when we wake, we will be in another world, somewhere far away. I can only hope we won’t be separated. I dream of the night my mother died, and I picture myself in her footsteps. The rubble crashed onto her. I remember the way she screamed—so loud… so scared. I remember standing there helpless, screaming, my voice scratchy for weeks afterward. I remember the look my father gave me when her fate was sealed. I know a lot of you still wonder how a father could blame his own daughter for her mother's death. I’m sure more of you didn’t realize I was a daughter. Learning so many new things. To answer the question though, he blamed me because I was there. I was there and I didn’t stop it (I was 10) so that makes it my fault. I guess.

I wake up with the sun, and Lia is already up. She’s collecting shells, and I wonder how much sleep she got. Her eyes tell me the answer is far less than I would like it to be, so I don’t say anything. Her smile is as bright as ever, and I wish this moment could last. But I know that any day now, there will be another storm. We will all be taken. Our city will fall with the sun, and we will float off into the sea. 

Lia sits next to me and hands me a piece of sea glass she found. “Red,” she smiles. “For hope.”  

“And courage,” I respond.  

“I think we could use a bit of both.”  

“I think so too.”  

“When do you think the next storm will come?”  

“Soon.”  

“What do we do?”  

“We wait.”  

“Wait? Wait.”

It’s already started again.

The waves crash. The buildings fall. I sit next to Lia. We wait. We wait to be taken away by the waves, longing for the release of death. She has hope that there is something more at the end. I’m not so sure. 

“Max?” she asks, looking over at me. Her eyes are as wet as the sea, and I can't shake the feeling that it’s haunting us. “Do you think we’ll still be together in the end?”

“There is nothing in this universe that could take me away from you.” I smile as we lay down again, and she hugs me close. A wave crashes over us, and I pull her tighter as the water drags us away. Time slows, and a sudden peace washes over us. I can hear my father screaming as we are taken. I smile at the thought; after so many years spent causing me pain, he will now get to experience the same.

There is something beautiful about being awake for your funeral.

I’m ready to close the casket.

I’m ready to fade away.