Facing the Storm

The Quiet Before the Storm

Unbeknownst to us, it was on its way. Far away, entire solar systems away, still, but most certainly on its way. Swallowing up all that crossed it, from moons to stars; down its black hole of a mouth they went, never satiating it, never halting it.

It bends space around itself, wearing the vast darkness like camouflage. We may have even looked directly at it through a telescope, but there would have been no way of knowing. Not unless the human eye could both count and remember the locations of the stars on any given night, and, maybe, if one could have, we would have seen the path that it was carving towards us. If only someone would have noticed that lone dark star, traveling at the incomprehensible speed that it was, we could have avoided being eaten up just like everything else in its way.

Chapter 1

The Quiet Before the Storm

The sun is rising yet again, as it always has, this time above your standard suburban neighborhood; this one in particular being located in the city of brotherly love: Philadelphia. It's only a smidgen rundown, like the residents of it, but they don't mind the state of the place. They, like most people, get up, get on with their life, and get to bed at the end of the day. Gerald Wallace, the quietest man, seemingly most unnoticed man on the block, blends in well enough with that ordinary formula. His inner self, however, betrays it; with a mind like a room, thoughts perpetually ricocheting like bullets in that room; if not for internet message boards letting him release those thoughts, he might've succumbed to a mental gunshot wound by now. Or, worse, he might've let loose on noisy neighbors and wound up in prison. But Gerald likes his alone time, his quiet time, and so he knows the alternative to a potentially chaotic life behind bars is preferable. "Self-control is key", he repeats to himself during those particularly hellish times. Like block parties, oh block parties, so invasive on his sparse moments of peace. The urge to go out there and crack a baseball bat over their stereo is stronger than a Mr. Universe in his prime, but we must remember what is key. Gerald certainly tries to.

If it wasn't obvious by now, Gerald likes his alone time, so much so that he has chosen to be alone all of his life. Now, half way through his forties, he's unsure whether that was the right choice or not, as those anxious thoughts of his creep ever closer to his core; when they reach it, darkness might finally overtake the little bit of light left in him, and, when that happens, self-control may no longer be an option. Such is the fear of ol' Gerald, but, first, he must get through another mundane day, then he can get back to worrying about his dark future.

One quick yet precisely made, balanced breakfast later, Gerald's off to work to repair some cars, trucks, and whatever else with tires that needs fixing up. It's not a job he's particularly passionate about, but he's got the knowledge to get it done, thanks to his late father, and it makes him the money he needs to bring home the small list of comforts that he desires.

Ring a ding, the bell above the front office door chimes, as Gerald walks in to start his day. Disheveled and uncaring, as usual, in his appearance, he's a natural ward for any greetings, and so with one quick glance, Judy, the front desk clerk, is back to her crossword puzzles. Aware enough of her seeming disapproval, Gerald imagines a situation in which he sarcastically apologizes for not taking the time to apply his make-up today. Yesterday, facing the same reaction, he thought to say to her, "yeah, fuck you too, Judy", but it's the combination of his lack of confidence and love of quiet that prevents him from enacting these fantasies.

Now in the back room where uniforms are kept, he changes into his own. A simple vest adorned with the logo "Classy Carl's Car Care". The boss man himself, Carl, isn't around very often, which Gerald is grateful to the universe for, because if anyone's going to push him over the edge, it's Carl. Short and round as he is loud, which is to say very, Carl could also ward off greetings for his obnoxiousness, if he didn't always initialize them only to hear his own voice. After the vest is on, Gerald reaches for his ear buds. Just in time, too, as co-worker conversations of last night's bar adventures started to invade his eardrums. Common talk from common people effect the mind and thus effect work, but Gerald has the calming sounds of seagulls and monkeys on his side, depending on the soundscape he's lost in, and, as a result of that, he's consistently top employee, not that he cares for that. Gerald's just there to do the job.

Hours pass, cars are cared for; Classy Carl remains true to the name of his business. At the whistle of a dolphin in his ear, Gerald looks up to a clock on the wall to see it's lunch time, and so he removes his gloves and heads for the break room. He arrives to the room only to find it's occupied by everyone else working the same hours, approximately seven others, already deep into their meal and those common conversations he detests oh so much. He makes the decision to continue listening to dolphins, believing their conversations, regardless of whether he can understand them or not, are probably more intelligent.

Sometime into his own lunch, now, he notices everyone starting to huddle around a phone. At first he presumes they've discovered some shiny new fetish on Pornhub that's grabbed their attention, but the expressions on their faces say otherwise. He inconspicuously removes an ear bud to listen in. "Is that real?", one asks, another following that up with, "can't be. Photoshopped. Fake news." Another apparent skeptic of the group says with certainty, "no, it's not news at all. It's a trailer for that new sci-fi movie, uhh, what's it called...". If his brain didn't seemingly fizzle out at the end there, Gerald may have left it at that, but his curiosity was now sparked, and so he brought up his own phone to find out what was going on.

"A large, jet black, square-shaped object landed in the mountains of Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania, just minutes ago. Scientists are both baffled by how it was able to arrive unnoticed, and how it was able to land with minimal damage being done to the forest around it. To quote one witness, 'it entered the atmosphere and touched the ground as swiftly as lightning does.' We are, as of this moment, unaware of any casualties, but we will report on that when we find out more from those on their way to the scene. " Gerald stared at as his phone, wide-eyed, now with a mind blanker than those around him. "You discover some new fetish there, Ger?", one of his co-workers asks, bringing him back to his senses. "Your jaw's been hanging for the past three minutes!", he continues, as the others back him up in laughter. Judy suddenly throws the door open, interrupting the fun and confusion, "the boss called, says you're all to go home early", inciting celebration among the group. Gerald picks his jaw up, tries to rub some thought into his mind, before putting his vest away and stumbling to his car to go home.

The traffic was particularly rough now, cementing the fact that what they saw was not a movie trailer but an actual event that occurred. Gerald was wrestling between whether to feel fear of the unknown, or excitement for something new. He'd always dreamt of living a life in a post-apocalyptic world; the challenge it would bring, the thrill. The lawlessness to get away with anything he wanted. Not that he'd want to do anything too perverse, but the option to shut someone up without any repercussions, if he felt so obliged, it enticed him.

On his drive back to his house, he'd occasionally catch groups of people standing around rocks, similar in color to the square he saw on the news. He chalked it up to pieces being broken off during entry into the atmosphere, hoping there might be one closer to home so that he could study it.