The world held its breath. Color shrank away to reveal the harsh, filtered gray of reality. The air was chilling, a reminder of what was happening. She was dead. The Sun was gone. In her place was a corpse—cold, brilliant, and terrifying. A most monstrous absence with a crown of white. An omen of death, despair, and Armageddon.
Happiness and life were gone, drained from existence, and in their place an indescribable feeling—a primal call of existential dread. This was it. The End. Surely nothing could come after this. How could it? We had been betrayed. That which we adored—the great, loving sun, who only moments earlier was kissing our cheeks—had changed her ways. Her brilliant golden mask stripped away to reveal that hideous void. A panic-inducing face of Nothing. It was wrong, in the way a nightmare is wrong. Except you can wake up from those. This was reality. The Totality. Horrendously majestic and jaw-dropping. A Dark Queen of the Sky.
Then suddenly, it was over. The monstrous, piercing eye was defeated. Our warm, caring mother returned. Her captivating brilliance once again displayed. Resurrection. Salvation. Color returned. Even the birds played cautious songs, though the flowers stayed closed, ever careful. Quickly, almost too quickly, life returned—as if to gaslight the world into pretending it never left. I know better, of course, and you do too if you’ve seen it. We’ll remember. The dread and awe. The screams and prayers. The loss of breath and atmosphere. We’ll remember the day the Sun betrayed us.
