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Mysterious Apocalypse
#WritcoStoryPrompt68
A catastrophe has been predicted; we should be alert at all times. It does not describe anything but its severity - which is massive. All we can do is wait and be ready. It will occur at midnight on the dot. Here it comes! 12:01...
12:02... 12:03... 12:10.
Ten minutes of nothing. Anticipation has our blood running cold. An impending sense of acute embarrassment gradually replaces the fear of our lives ending. We've been had; it was a massive prank, and we are standing like fools.
We joke amongst ourselves to give some fun to this absurd situation. A few in the group try to play it cool. Claiming they never believed the prediction to begin with. Lies that folded over themselves at the slightest bit of scrutiny.
Overall, we all sighed with relief, knowing it was a hoax. I am way too young to die; the prospect of dying an excruciatingly painful death at the hands of who knows what frightened me to my core. My comrades will agree with me, saying that we can wait several more decades to learn if there is an afterlife or not.
With residual timidity, I twisted the key into the deadbolt and opened the door, albeit hesitant. It's one of those circumstances where, even knowing the root cause or outcome of a given situation, the brain still lights up once more to whisper a small "What if?".
I vaguely hear someone in the back tell the group they will stay inside to watch the news.
After me, two more step out of the house. We were breathing in the cold, fresh air. A rumbling is suddenly heard behind us. Turning around in a hurry, we were just in time to witness the earth collapse and the resulting sinkhole devouring the house along with the rest of our comrades who were inside.
Despite the firm layer of dirt and debris, their cries for help could still be heard. It was heart-wrenching to listen to them while we did the most to dig them out. We were giving them vain reassurances that we would get them out. Knowing full well, we would not be able to keep that promise.
I decided to run toward the neighbor's house. I was asking for help and heavy-duty tools to dig a hole there. The neighbor is reluctant, but our tears and pleas wear him down. He agrees, warning us to wait outside. Once he gains his bearings, he leaves the house; his small family frightfully walks after him.
The rumbling reactivated, and the earth now swallowed my neighbor's home. They cry out in despair, mourning the memories they just lost. Meanwhile, we also cried after witnessing the only hope of digging our friends out into the surface disappear into the scalding entrails of our planet, along with the house.
"I am so sorry." These are the only words I can muster.
---
We spent a few hours brainstorming possibilities to explain what was happening to us. Our observations lead us to recognize a vital pattern: The sinkholes only appear after people leave the house. Those remaining inside their homes are alive and standing. Immediately, we yell at people to stay inside and not step outside under any circumstances. However, no good deed ever goes unpunished. A stray bullet makes direct contact with the neighbor's skull. Destroying it in the process, his insides splattered all over his traumatized family.
One by one, stray bullets take us down. We ran and hid the best we could, but they were faster, so much faster. My dear friend used his body as a shield to protect me. His inert body falls on top of me. It incited me to gasp and sob; I managed to cover my mouth, trying to keep as silent as possible.
Sounds of stomping boots and clicking magazines surround me. I must stay still as stone. My friend gave up his life for me; the least I owe him is to make his sacrifice worthwhile by surviving. My tears-stung eyes don't help me see anything in the small space between my friend and the ground. But I can tell we are dealing with the military here. I frantically take cover. My body is not visible beneath the pile, yet I play dead regardless.
I closed my eyes and prayed for my soul; I heard them say to double confirm the dead were genuinely dead by shooting them twice in the head. It was only a matter of time before they found me.
And that is precisely what happened. I look up point-blank to a gun's barrel. My time is up; after all, I muse bitterly. Before my demise, I asked if they could explain what was happening.
They oblige my request. There was no catastrophe. It was all a government-funded social experiment to see who would heed orders and not go out. Those who obeyed get to live many more days under a new regime that is taking shape. The rebels who disobeyed cannot be trusted. Thus, they will be terminated.
I failed the test.
© Elsbeth Mareile G.C.
A catastrophe has been predicted; we should be alert at all times. It does not describe anything but its severity - which is massive. All we can do is wait and be ready. It will occur at midnight on the dot. Here it comes! 12:01...
12:02... 12:03... 12:10.
Ten minutes of nothing. Anticipation has our blood running cold. An impending sense of acute embarrassment gradually replaces the fear of our lives ending. We've been had; it was a massive prank, and we are standing like fools.
We joke amongst ourselves to give some fun to this absurd situation. A few in the group try to play it cool. Claiming they never believed the prediction to begin with. Lies that folded over themselves at the slightest bit of scrutiny.
Overall, we all sighed with relief, knowing it was a hoax. I am way too young to die; the prospect of dying an excruciatingly painful death at the hands of who knows what frightened me to my core. My comrades will agree with me, saying that we can wait several more decades to learn if there is an afterlife or not.
With residual timidity, I twisted the key into the deadbolt and opened the door, albeit hesitant. It's one of those circumstances where, even knowing the root cause or outcome of a given situation, the brain still lights up once more to whisper a small "What if?".
I vaguely hear someone in the back tell the group they will stay inside to watch the news.
After me, two more step out of the house. We were breathing in the cold, fresh air. A rumbling is suddenly heard behind us. Turning around in a hurry, we were just in time to witness the earth collapse and the resulting sinkhole devouring the house along with the rest of our comrades who were inside.
Despite the firm layer of dirt and debris, their cries for help could still be heard. It was heart-wrenching to listen to them while we did the most to dig them out. We were giving them vain reassurances that we would get them out. Knowing full well, we would not be able to keep that promise.
I decided to run toward the neighbor's house. I was asking for help and heavy-duty tools to dig a hole there. The neighbor is reluctant, but our tears and pleas wear him down. He agrees, warning us to wait outside. Once he gains his bearings, he leaves the house; his small family frightfully walks after him.
The rumbling reactivated, and the earth now swallowed my neighbor's home. They cry out in despair, mourning the memories they just lost. Meanwhile, we also cried after witnessing the only hope of digging our friends out into the surface disappear into the scalding entrails of our planet, along with the house.
"I am so sorry." These are the only words I can muster.
---
We spent a few hours brainstorming possibilities to explain what was happening to us. Our observations lead us to recognize a vital pattern: The sinkholes only appear after people leave the house. Those remaining inside their homes are alive and standing. Immediately, we yell at people to stay inside and not step outside under any circumstances. However, no good deed ever goes unpunished. A stray bullet makes direct contact with the neighbor's skull. Destroying it in the process, his insides splattered all over his traumatized family.
One by one, stray bullets take us down. We ran and hid the best we could, but they were faster, so much faster. My dear friend used his body as a shield to protect me. His inert body falls on top of me. It incited me to gasp and sob; I managed to cover my mouth, trying to keep as silent as possible.
Sounds of stomping boots and clicking magazines surround me. I must stay still as stone. My friend gave up his life for me; the least I owe him is to make his sacrifice worthwhile by surviving. My tears-stung eyes don't help me see anything in the small space between my friend and the ground. But I can tell we are dealing with the military here. I frantically take cover. My body is not visible beneath the pile, yet I play dead regardless.
I closed my eyes and prayed for my soul; I heard them say to double confirm the dead were genuinely dead by shooting them twice in the head. It was only a matter of time before they found me.
And that is precisely what happened. I look up point-blank to a gun's barrel. My time is up; after all, I muse bitterly. Before my demise, I asked if they could explain what was happening.
They oblige my request. There was no catastrophe. It was all a government-funded social experiment to see who would heed orders and not go out. Those who obeyed get to live many more days under a new regime that is taking shape. The rebels who disobeyed cannot be trusted. Thus, they will be terminated.
I failed the test.
© Elsbeth Mareile G.C.
