As The World Caves In

The day started as any other- sun shining, partly cloudy sky, not too warm yet not too cool; ideal early September weather. Just like many other people, I wasn't exactly interested in listening to the news out of knowing that I was just going to be angered and saddened by the current state of affairs within my country. I'm sure that most people right now are either trying to convince themselves that this is all going to be over in another- it doesn't matter, not anymore. The emergency broadcast system sent an alert- it just came through not even a minute ago that we have been attacked, though, the bomb hasn't landed yet. There is nothing we can do, and there was no warning- the enemy struck first, and without so much as an indication of doing so.

I sit in my back yard, watching my little ones while I wait for my husband to get home; I've called my mother and told her I love her- much the same with my grandparents and other relatives that I have been out of contact with for a long time -and I've left my brother a voice message telling him I love him and how sorry I am for failing as a sibling when it mattered most. It all seems so surreal- you wake up and think it'll be an ordinary day, only to hear an emergency broadcast alert that the world is going to fall apart, and it's not a metaphor.

I can't cry- I don't want my children to ask why I'm upset; instead, I'll sit here and wait patiently for my husband to return home so that we all are able to perish in flame together. There is no way to describe the existential dread of knowing that your existence as you know it, the lineage that you and another have created, the very life brought into this world, life as we all know and love it, is about to end in a matter of time.

I watch the bees pollinate the late summer flowers in our back yard with my toddler in my lap, one of my three month old babies in the crook of one arm while the other babe sleeps soundly in the small bassinet beside us. I can hear my husband’s car pull into the driveway before stopping inside the garage, which is then followed by the sounds of him going through his motions of coming home-even in the face of crisis and impending death, old habits and set routines die hard- before finally approaching us through the garage. I look over my shoulder to meet his eyes- the tears finally fall as he moves towards me as though in a dream, carefully picks up our sleeping babe and holds him as he stands beside me, places a hand on my shoulder, and then proceeds to kiss all three of our children on the forehead and tell them how much we all mean to him. It’s a heartfelt and watery goodbye; grief and bitter acceptance from the two who understand the gravity of the impending blast, the toddler who is -was- almost a child that knows nothing of what is to come, only that her parents are sad, and finally, the two infants barely over the three month mark, bright eyed and healthy, now only kindling for the global wildfire. All of us holding on to each other in our backyard, listening as the sirens sound and the very Earth seems to shake as something that sounds like rolling thunder reverberates in the air above us; we shield the children with our bodies despite knowing it won’t do any good, just as the first wave of intense heat barrels over us and the air is forcibly torn from our lungs; a harsh and abrupt end, though in a way, one befitting passive parasites who could have done more to preserve the natural wonders of the earth, whilst trying harder to prolong the inevitable by challenging the order of things.