The Bomb (Existence)

He woke up groggy. Sleep was heavy on his eyelids and full in his lungs; yawns teared his eyes, and poured out the dregs of his breath. Cold flooring kissed the smooth underside of his feet, eliciting a short gasp that broke a yawn, but was then broken by a yawn. The stillness of the morning—the sun painted a lazy haze on the windows in warm orange and red—and the silence made him sleepier. It tugged at his legs and compelled him to the soft bed; the spreading bedspread rolled like the calm of the ocean with peak of cotton froth that whispered lullabies. Still he had to go to the bathroom, a dull ache pulsing kept him awake.

He moved through the air, sticky like caramel, and grabbed for the door; his exit, his release. The cool white porcelain winked brightly under the dull fluorescents and sparkled in his eye. The water beckoned him to release, the ache throbbed, and soon he was empty. A sedate smile pushed across his face, as he depressed the button. The water swirled into the small open void; he clapped the seat down heavy, and move to the sink, behind an empty husk forever connected to the ground but never to have water again.

The water from the faucet kissed his hands and tickled his fingers, drawing warm feeling up from his heart. Soap turned his hands a cloud of bubbles, and then was quickly gone. He walked out of the room, scrubbing vigorously his feet on the soft carpet, with the water still running, a bad habit he had never quit. It splashed the sink and roared until it died and hissed; only air passed through the pipes.

“Mom,” he cried loudly, rubbing his eyes to be rid of the last vestiges of sleep, “I’m hungry!”

He creaked down the stairs; small splinters embedding in his soles, unnoticed. His hands rubbed the banister, feeling the turn of the grain, and he sighed. The noise was there, but it was flat. It fell from the air and landed to patter at his feet. His voice and the creaks were pooling deep around his ankles making it hard to walk. The air grew heavier and odorless, wrapping a thick shroud around his shivering frame. Breath seemed to disappear into nothing, and it was hard for him to take in air. Soon he was winded. Muscles tightened and relaxed, his senses were on fire, his heart beat a crazy dance, and his brain turned everything into a surreal dream.
Finally he reached the bottom, almost gasping, almost collapsing. A cold emptiness pressed at his back and he was too scared to turn around.

“Mom,” he cried again, on the verge of tears, but not wanting to cry.

Everything was cold, harsh, and crude, a rough sketch of a grand painting brilliant with unmatched luster. The light, that fills the plants and animals, giving thought and emotion, was gone. The absence of light— now shadows were heavy and everywhere— sent a jitter into his heart. Blinded, he stumbled into the kitchen, not noticing the oppressive nothing behind him; the enveloping doom. His eyes poured wide over the scene.

In the night, crickets gave their salute and the wind rippled through the grass and leaves, playing a song of nature. A big red house—white shutters and open windows to let the breeze in with a large patio deck covered and screened—loomed over the yard of green. There was light in one window but everywhere else was quiet with the black of sleep. Two, a man and a woman, sat upright on their bed looking into each others eyes. Their gaze was intent and unbroken, tears dripped from the corners of their eyes pouring on the straight, clean sheet. Not a word passed between them. The tension built like the rising sun and they shared a passionate kiss.

While they kissed, eyes opened to continue the loving gaze that shared the heavens, a silent whistling broke through the dewy clouds. A large crash and a flashing of light, a blinding light and heat from hell, vaporized everything in the neighborhood. Together they fell into oblivion and the darkness, but in the next room, alone and asleep, their son slept soundly. Unaware of the doom that killed his parents, or his own death, he slept on.

He fell to his knees with tears crawling from the corner of his eyes. He was alone. His vision blurred and his legs went numb, but he knew that they were already gone. The house began to collapse around him; boards fell into the carpet and were consumed. He was alone and afraid. His thoughts whirled and turned, but he couldn’t think. His heart beat, but his blood was gone from his veins. The tears dried up and he could no longer fell his cheeks, he knew they were gone.

“Why—” he managed through a mouth that was crumbled dust with a mind that was now broken up into a million, million atoms.

But, with radiation moving form the dirt like heat, it never happened. He was dead, but he never was alive anyway. He passed a memory that was never had, a thought that was left incomplete and forgotten. He was alone.