480 Seconds

By Sue Vaness, Grade 9, Carson Graham Secondary

“This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.” The voice that followed was not human, but  artificial. It carried no emotion as it relayed its monotone and familiar tone of voice. The  broadcast came in waves as the message hijacked every screen, call, music, and radio on God's green earth.  

“This is an automated emergency broadcast from NASA. We have detected a terminal collapse within our sun, resulting in an explosion. Earth will receive its rays in approximately 8 minutes. This is our final broadcast. May God be with you all and may humanity find peace.” 

A silence washed over the world. A world that seemed so full of life and sounds –cars,  shoes, arguments, laughter- it all changed. Everything was a mere ringing intruding into the ears of the people. May God be with you all. All Christians, Jews, Muslims and even  Atheists could only pray. They prayed for their lives, their families’ lives, their dreams,  which seemed so close only moments ago. People are cruel in their last moments, but the universe is crueler. 6:52 pm. 8 minutes.  

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The air smelt old and moldy. The couch and its fabric felt rough against the girl's skin. She was surrounded by thin walls with peeling wallpaper, making her feel more suffocated with each passing second. The apartment was not the problem, the mold was not the problem, and the worn-down floorboards, wallpaper and fabric were not the problem and did not make her hate the home. It was the figure who sat beside her, the mother, and the sole provider. 

A woman, a mother or, a poor excuse of a parent, sat beside her. Every breath the two  shared in this one-bedroom complex felt like the daughter was swallowing glass and  apologized for the bleeding. Glass shards that were being forcefully shoved down her tight throat, feeling and taste of blood going down her throat and leaking into her stomach without her consent. 6:54:30pm. 5 minutes and 30 seconds. 

The house, although silent, carried a grim and heavy weight as the TV abruptly shut off with a press of the mother's harsh fingers but it was too late. The message of the robot bounced on the walls. It made the paint peel further, revealing the mold, infesting the air of the dim light in the apartment. The silence was different, a slap or a yell usually sounded between the barriers. The walls knew the truth between the two but refused to speak it, it spoke only in her screams that lived in the walls, echoing back only when she was unbearably alone. Now, the only sound surviving was a countdown neither wished to speak of. 

The girl felt relief. While everyone prayed to live, she didn't. Her mind drifting to newly  founded freedom. She wished for this –imagined it thousands of times- The end of the world meant freedom, right? 6:57pm. 3 minutes 

She sat on the couch, her body unconsciously inching away from the older figure who held an unreadable expression, hunched over at the other end. Tears dripped down the  mother's cheek. As the daughter counted every deserving salty tear on the monster's face, her mind drifted. Pictures of faces formed in her pitch-black consciousness. Pictures of faces of those who cared about her. The friend who checked in, the teacher who stayed after class and the stranger who held the door open. There were people outside of this house, outside of her mom, outside of her head who had been there. Who cared. She spent so long in that fire that she never reached for the hands reaching and waiting for the buckets of water sitting beside her, patiently. 

Her eyes flickered to the door. It's always been there. From the beginning, there had been a way out. An old but useful way out. She had just been too hopeless to see, and now, it was too late. 

Her mother took in a shaky breath, followed by a heavy exhale and for the first time, the sound didn't make the girl flinch. They sat together, side by side. Mother by daughter. Woman by girl. Abuser by abused. 6:59:30. 30 seconds. 

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The end was inevitable. Some ran towards it, others away. Either way, no one knew what came after. No one had to. All they knew was this: it wouldn't hurt. 

Not like trying to survive did. 7pm. 0 seconds.