Andrew's Apocalypse

“Fuck!” Andrew shouted as he woke up in a cold sweat. He lay there for a while, blinking, as his senses returned to him. His toes felt numb; his body stiff. He took a deep draw of air into his lungs and coughed. Breathing felt suddenly unfamiliar to him as if he were out of practice. Did I just swear? He thought to himself. Mom would kill me. He sighed and reached for the glass of water on his nightstand, but it was empty. Groaning, he moved his tongue around in his dry, foul-tasting mouth. It pressed against his palate, and slid across his cheeks and gums, trying to return some sense of moisture. He licked his lips one more time, then took a breath through his nose. “I am so disgusting,” he said as he pulled the damp covers off of his body and sat up on the edge of the bed. Is this all sweat? Did I pee? His head was ringing as he wiped his forehead and tried to remember what had just happened. His brain felt like it had been stretched out through his ear and then violently stuffed back in. He rubbed his eyes and shifted his gaze towards his alarm clock. 6:43. Dear god, that’s early. Andrew typically slept in on Saturdays; but, even if he could fall back asleep today, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He got up and walked groggily to the bathroom to start his morning routine. 

Lights from the TV in the family room were flashing against the wall as Andrew crossed the hallway. His mom was always up before the sun, even on the weekends. And each morning, cup of coffee in hand, she watched the news like it was her job. “Breaking news!” the telecaster exclaimed. But Andrew had already stopped listening. He couldn’t stand the news. Maybe it was because he was only thirteen and the news never affected him; maybe when he turned into an adult, he’d be just like his mom. But he didn’t think so. All the news was to him was tragic events and trivial matters.

As Andrew showered, the ringing in the back of his head grew slightly louder. It was like a mosquito buzzing around up there—not so much painful, but annoyingly persistent. He scratched his scalp and cracked his neck. He felt awkward. Not like the normal, pubescent-growing-pains sort of awkward, but like he wasn’t himself and his body was too big for its shell. OK, maybe it is just puberty. Andrew sighed and turned off the water. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked over to the foggy mirror. Using his hand, he wiped off a small portion so that he could see himself. His face was frowning—or maybe that’s just how it normally sat. He pursed his lips, then studied his freckles in the dim light. In his own time, he combed back his brown, curly hair from his face then leaned over the sink, collecting a pool of water in his hands. He splashed it against his face, taking in the cold bite of the water. It was refreshing. He paused for a moment, trying to gain some sense of peace. He still felt wrapped up in the dream that he couldn’t remember, which was an odd feeling. As he stood back up straight and wiped the water from his face, he caught a glimpse of the mirror. Another expletive left his mouth as he jumped back in shock. Hesitantly, he returned his sight to the mirror, wiping off the small layer of fog that had gathered there again. Without blinking, he ran his fingers across his face, making sure every part of him was still there. “What is going on today?” he whispered.

After Andrew had dressed, he returned to the living room. “Morning,” he said, as he walked behind his mom who was still sitting on the couch. She didn’t reply. Her eyes and ears were still affixed to the news. Suddenly the buzzing in Andrew’s head grew again, this time paired with a sharp sensation that shot down through his spine. He cried out as he fell to the floor. 

“Honey? What happened?” Andrew’s mom shouted as she rushed over to him in a panic. “Are you OK? How are you feeling?” 

“I’m… I’m fine. Ow, stop,” Andrew said as his mom checked over him with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a while. She tried to lift his eyelids as he shoved her hand away. “I’m fine, OK, just stop.” The pain had subsided quickly, and Andrew felt shocked more than anything else. 

“Don’t scare me like that then!” She scolded him. “Did you hear the news this morning?”

“What, another celebrity couple broke up?”

She ignored him. “People are dropping like flies. All around the world, just falling down dead on the streets.”

“Wait, what! For real?” Andrew said, his interest now piqued. 

“Dead serious, come see for yourself,” she replied, as she returned to her spot on the couch. The buzzing in the back of Andrew’s head tamed slightly, and he got up to join his mom on the couch. In the back of his head, alongside the buzzing, he entertained the thought that these strange things that were happening to him this morning were the beginning of his death.

“Do they know what’s causing it?” He asked his mom.

“Nope. Clueless. I’m just waiting for the bodies to get up and start eating people’s brains.”

“Haha,” Andrew replied, sarcastically. Every time his mom talked, the buzzing in his head pulsed as if it were trying to compete with her. After watching the news for a short while, he got up and searched the medicine cabinet for something to calm his head. The telecaster continued to babble on, saying nothing of significance to whatever was happening. All they really knew at the moment was that people were dying with seemingly no rhyme or reason. As Andrew continued to rummage through the cabinet, his mom got up and walked towards the bathroom. Another moment went by, and then a blood-curdling scream rang through the house. Andrew dropped what he was holding and ran towards the bathroom. Not there. He continued rushing down the hall and into her room. Still not there. He turned the corner into his room and saw his mom staring at his empty bed. Her hands were covering her mouth. “What? What is it?” He yelled. Another sharp pain ran through Andrew’s spine, sending him backward onto his butt.

His mom turned her head towards him, tears running down her cheek, “You’re dead, baby,” she said. Then she crawled into his bed and sobbed as she clenched the covers.  

Andrew groaned as he rubbed his head. He stammered, trying to get his mom’s attention as the world seemed to spin around him. As he looked back at his bed, he saw... himself. The color was drained from his face, but it was undoubtedly his face. His mom was rocking back and forth over his body.

“Wake up,” she sobbed, “please wake up.”

Andrew looked down at his hands. Then up at the body lying in his bed—his body. And back down at his hands once more. He got up slowly and walked towards his mom. As he climbed into the bed, he stepped through her and laid down into his body. He could feel her rock him back and forth. Her shaky, shallow breath warmed his suddenly bare chest. It was comforting. “Mom? I think this is the last time I’ll really feel you hold me,” he said, and then closed his eyes. A tear trickled down his cheek and for the first time since the morning, the buzzing in his head stopped completely. But his mind still wandered. What now? He thought—his head swirling with possibilities.