I stand outside on my porch, in the stifling heat and unearthly light. The howling wind has stilled, settling into the calm before the true storm. The world holds its dying breath.
Not long now.
It was all over the news. An asteroid collided with the sun; just a tiny drop of oil into the roaring bonfire that made our planet hospitable. Too small a thing to have such an effect, really. Way too small.
And yet, the sun is dying.
She's putting up one hell of a fight. She's blowing herself up, her hot flaming fingers reaching for the infinite emptiness, struggling against the implosion that will be her doom. In her death throes, she will take with her the whole planetary system that circles around her like lazy flies.
And there is nothing - not a single thing - humanity can do to help her. To help itself.
Armageddon, baby. Where's Mr. Willis when you need him?
The ocean stretching beneath me is steaming, sending billowing layers of clouds into the sky. That was on the news, too, until about six hours ago, when the communication systems gave out under a barrage of the sun’s intense electromagnetic waves.
Or maybe there's just nobody left who is willing to broadcast the news and keep the systems running. There's no point, is there?
Order has fled as fear takes over lives. I've withdrawn to my home, my safe haven, waiting out the chaos. Only good things can touch me here even when everything stops making sense. The night hadn’t been dark, but neither was the day bright. The constant red-orange glow flickering on the horizon as the world spun her face from her ravaging sister would now be eye-scorching if not for the roiling clouds blanketing the sky. Every cloud has a blood-red lining of light that sears patterns against the pressing black canvas.
It's beautiful in its own way, as destruction sometimes is. I focus on that, the alien feel of this moment, the experience of it - not its consequences. I long ago set out to enjoy life as a string of experiences to be felt and lived, not analysed. To breathe deeply, to listen closely, to see clearly and to feel fully. I'm not going to sully my wonderful life now by analysing my demise. Life isn’t over after death. Just different.
A wind picks up, stroking hot fingers over my face, through my hair. The clouds seem to shrink as their red lining grows. Dust and light kick into my eyes, so I clos them, blocking out the dust. The red brightness remains, grows hotter. The wind roars and bites my skin. Light swallows me whole, spears through me, flashing pain.
Then peace.
Sanctuary.
When I woke up I was glad it wasn’t real - I would like to experience life some more - yet during the whole dream I was never afraid. I have learned so much in the past two years; I know that death is not the end and that I am never alone. Apparently, this is a comfort that even permeates my dreams.
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