The Darkest Side


Rumors spread like wildfire, whispered from one person to the next. Ears perk up at the sound of new gossip, especially when it pertains to the end of times. No one believes these myths; no one really listens. We self-inform ourselves with every single detail, and then we don’t do a thing. When these whispers and these exchanges began to revolve around the possibility of the Earth standing still, people began to hunt for any information possible. It was preposterous, this strange idea that our world might stop rotating on its axis and revolving around the sun. In the beginning, there were a few believers, in fact, I was one of them. However, the more this concept was talked about the fewer people thought of it as a fact. They denied this idea, because it was too complex for them to comprehend. If anybody voiced an opinion that supported this fanatical myth, they were laughed at, shunned from society. I kept quiet, so did my family. We were strong believers, because to us it made sense. We handled ourselves well, talking about it in secret and making sure we weren’t overheard. If the Earth suddenly stopped everyone and everything that wasn’t attached to bedrock would be hurtled into space. A plan to save ourselves began to develop. My family and I engineered a cellar, very far underground, that we would hide in when the day came. It was a simple idea, and it was simple to plan. However, the execution of it was far more difficult. Shovels, picks, saws, and axes became everyday items in our home. After a while a pit below our houses foundation began to take shape. We used metal rods to ensure its stability, filled chambers with food and water, and prepared for the day to come. Time passes quickly when you’re afraid, so the next few weeks zoomed by faster than I could ever imagine. The night before the presumed date, the ticking of my clock prevented sleep from overcoming me. I knew that I must go to bed, but the anticipation of tomorrow was overwhelming. So I just lied there. I wasn’t asleep; I wasn’t awake. That’s how my mom found me the next morning when she came into my room to wake me up. She could easily tell that my emotions were dulled, but she cried out to me. “You must get up. We must go below before the sun rises.” I obediently rose, and slowly went to my bedroom door. I didn’t even glance around my room, didn’t breathe in the familiar smells, I don’t think I even turned off my light. I just followed; too sleep deprived to do anything else. My soft steps barely make a sound as I descend the stairs. I can feel my father’s eyes on me as I turned the corner. He and my brother are waiting for me. The door to our safe haven has been open. My father nods to us then begins to climb down the ladder. My mom goes next, then my brother, then me. I’m in charge of latching the door, and I pause for the slightest fraction of a second before doing so. It’s going to be much different when we crawl back out; I believe that with every ounce of my being. My cheeks blush; I’m ashamed of my hesitation. I thrust the door close and lock it into place. Climbing down seems to take eternity, and my knuckles turn pale from my tight grip around the ladders’ rungs. Finally, my feet can touch the hardened earth. I’m still amazed that we were able to build this enormous cave. Although today, it almost looks like a tomb. There isn’t a clock down here, which is extremely painful. I don’t know the time of day, I don’t know when “it” is going to happen. My parents must, because a few hours later we strap ourselves to the floor. It’s supposed to keep us extra protected; just in case. Click, click, click. The buckles snap into place and silence devours the empty space. I can hear my breath echoing off the walls. We wait, but nothing happens. My eyes dart around the room, and I can literally feel the tension emanating from my mom and dad. No one dares to move; we fear all of our efforts were for nothing; we fear that we were wrong. Time passes and my stomach turns with each minute. I am the first to undo the straps protecting my body. Just as I stand up a wave of energy pulses through the ground and I tumble down. My face connects with the floor and a small groan escapes my mouth. My father shouts out to me, “you must strap yourself back in.” He pauses and a warm realization blankets me. I can’t tell if I’m terrified or relieved; It’s happening. My arms and legs cannot move faster as I struggle to return to my spot. I am secured in place when the next wave begins. This one is more forceful, and my weight shifts causing the straps to pierce into my body. Seconds pass before the next one, which is much worse than the previous. This continues, turning into a demented pattern. Suddenly, the room goes still. I shut my eyes until my vision is splotchy and mutter a prayer underneath my breath. Then a force collides with my body so hard that I my eyes pop open and my family and I scream out in unison. It hurts. I try to imagine being someplace else, but the pulsing in my head reminds me exactly where I am. We were right, and the rest of the world was wrong. I suppose that I should feel at least a little bit of satisfactory, but I cannot. Swirls of pain envelope me and the wind is knocked out my chest. Blackness clouds my vision and I pass out. When my eyes flutter open a sense of relief overtakes my body. I’m, by some miracle, still alive. My vision is still a bit blurry and my eyes take a little bit to adjust. The straps that surround my body are only still connected by threads. When I try to unlatch them they break off in my hands. I sit up and the first thing I see is the absence of my family. My eyes twitch as I look around the room. My parents and my brother aren’t in their places. In fact, the straps aren’t even there. My read slowly turns around and I catch my breath. Vomit forces its way out of my throat and onto the ground next to me. They are splattered against the wall. Everything is red. It’s gruesome and my stomach turns once more. Their straps must have broken off in all the mayhem; they must of gone flying towards the wall. My hands begin to tremble and my mouth tastes of bile. This was not our plan. We were supposed to survive together, as a family. I suddenly feel claustrophobic. My taste buds crave fresh air. We were going to stay in here for a few days, but it’s just me now. And I need to get out. I stumble towards the exit and stare up at the endless amount of space I have to climb up. Despair acts as my motivation as I take the first step up. I move fast. The need for a better reality seems to be pushing me up the ladder. I open the lock and push on the door above my head. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. My dad was always the one to open it. I push until my face is red and my muscles are sore and finally it opens just enough for me to squirm my body through. My eyes blink, readjusting to the light. I stop dead cold. I feel sick again. There is nothing in sight. No people, no houses, no street, no grass, no trees, no nothing. An endless dirt ground extends to the horizon in every place I look. I sink to my knees as tears spill over the edge of my eyes. I have never been more alone. The sun burns my skin, I can’t stay here. Ducking back into our shelter I run back down the ladder. Averting my eyes, I grab the four backpacks of supplies and rush back up to the surface. It isn’t comfortable but I can manage carrying all of them. I look up to the blinding sun; I thank God for my life and I curse him for leaving me alone. Then I begin to walk. My walk turns into a jog, which turns into a desperate sprint. I don’t know where I’m going, but for some reason I know I must go. Death hovers over me. I try to outrun it, but it’s relentless. It has taken away so many lives today; I promise myself that I will not be one of them.