bluesky

P R O L O G U E

A Recording

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Is this thing working? Alright, I assume that’s good.

First off, I should start off with my name. I’m Clara. My full name doesn’t matter anymore. My age is around fifteen or sixteen years old. I haven’t seen a calendar in months to see how much time has passed. I had a little sister named Charlotte and two loving parents who were the world to me. I had a pet dog named Rudy and I was dreaming of becoming a dancer. I was that teenager.

I’m supposed to be in going into my junior year of high school sometime in the next couple of weeks, or maybe I’m already supposed to be in school? Never mind that, that isn’t why I’m speaking to you on this recorder.

At the beginning of my sophomore year, everything was perfect. The sun was always warm against my—our—skins.  Blue and white filled the clouds and everyone was still swimming in pools and rec centers. Everywhere you turned you saw laughing faces and billboards promoting the hottest new artists. Every couple minutes someone posted a status on Facebook or uploaded a picture to Instagram. It was the norm.

Summer was just ending and the first day of school came. I remember being so happy to see all of my friends again. We caught up on boys and things that had happened since May. We laughed too. Everyone laughed and smiled. That was my life. That was our life.

It was.

Before the war began.

Once that ounce of chaos erupted on my small blue planet, colors turned to gray. The once laughing family in the park now spent their life in a crowded, moldy celler waiting for things to pass. Schools were shut down. Pools were closed. The things we took for granted were snatched away from our fingertips and we felt absolutely and utterly powerless against the thing coming for us.

At first, we didn’t even know that they were there. There were few of them and then they multiplied and multiplied until it was rare when you didn’t see them. They were everywhere by the time Valentine’s Day rolled around.

Let’s just say that love was not in the air that day.

Soon enough battles broke out and people were coming home dead. Almost every day, police cars would appear in my neighborhood and tell yet another family that their father or husband or son was dead because of those—those things. Many tears were shed in those first few weeks of battle. Luckily, my family wasn’t affected until later.

It began hard to even leave the house. I was scared to ride my bike or even ride to practice in a car. That’s how bad it got. My mother didn’t want to send me to school, but I went anyway.

Then my school was attacked and I had to run.

Run far, far, away.

I have lost so many loved ones in the past year—friends, family, schoolmates—and it continues everyday that those things are invading my planet. I’ve watched my friends die because of this and someone needs to be told about it. My small blue planet in the middle of this solar system is a victim of this nightmare and I don’t want to see it burn.

Why they chose Earth instead of a bigger, more intelligent one? I don’t know. Maybe because we’re vulnerable and not very smart compared to others that have been going on for many more millenniums? That’s a question that I don’t have the courage to ask. So, listen on if you want to. It might not be pleasant, but it is my tale and it is mine to tell.

My name is Clara and this is the story of how I died.