Apocalyptia (Apocalyptia #1)

Chapter 1

Crystal never saw it coming. Sure, every religious venue and church in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, had been talking about it, but she wasn't devout. She didn't go to church every Sunday or read the Bible every day before she went to bed, but she did believe there was more than just her world. Regardless, when the churches began their uproars about the coming of the savior and the rapture, Crystal would be a liar if she said that she hadn’t turned a deaf ear to their voices. It was just all too much to believe. Besides, how could a human being know something like that? Maybe she was right, but maybe she was wrong, too.

It wasn't until August that the news on the rising tension over what the state of the world actually was began to pick up. Scientists with names Crystal had never heard before were coming on television and discussing the odd frequency of meteors breaking through the layers of Earth's atmosphere and the anomalies occurring with the star Betelgeuse. It was a super-giant star, a part of the Orion constellation, and one that scientists stated, "would have enough power to obliterate Earth's atmosphere, allowing for space debris to pass through with little obstacle." Of course, such a statement caused Crystal some pause, but the scientists would always follow up with statistics and studies, which were supposed to comfort and tell everyone that there was little chance of an apocalypse ever happening in a single lifetime. Crystal only understood the bare minimum of what was actually said, but, then again, she was just a history major. It also didn't help that every professional they put on to discuss it spoke in a monotone that had Crystal tuning out half of what was said. They didn't seem to be worried, so neither was she.

And on a regular August morning, the last thing on Crystal's mind was Betelgeuse and the boring scientists. She had a test in History 203, and as she jumped in the shower her mind was running through dates and names that had something to do with the civil rights movement, but it was all swimming together. The bleariness wasn't clearing as fast as she liked. She groaned with the pressure and cursed the fact that she had scheduled an 8 a.m. class when she lived thirty minutes away from the University of Alabama. Crystal wasn't a morning person.

Still, she pushed on, or trudged on, depending on which task she was pressed with to make herself look somewhat presentable for regular society. Crystal had lived life as a tomboy, and it wasn't any different in college. The night before, she had good intentions. She laid out the straightener and blow dryer before bed, but in the morning she had to choose between more sleep or straight hair. Sleep usually won out. Then she'd jump out of the shower, stare at the disgustingly pink straightener and blow dryer set her mother had gotten her on her fourteenth birthday, sneer, pull her hair into a wet knot, and back to the bedroom she'd go. Good intentions could only go so far.

Her dressing habits weren't any better. A T-shirt, a hoodie, a presumably clean pair of jeans, and her Converse. She couldn’t care less about anything she wore, but her Converse were something else. They were black high tops, and something about them just clicked with her. If she had a style, it would be lazy, but the Converse felt like they made her seem more laid-back than lazy. It was an embarrassing thought, and she often felt it silly, but she couldn't help smiling when they slipped onto her feet. They felt familiar and just like they had two years ago when her mom had bought them for her. It was one gift her mom never questioned getting for her upon request. Crystal thought it was because it was the only article of clothing she had shown any remote interest in, and her mom had been dying for her to take an interest in being a girly-girl. Her interest in the shoes was the extent of her girliness, though.

Once they were on her feet, she was set and ready to go. Crystal walked through her trailer, passing through the hallway and the living room, then pausing in the kitchen long enough to grab her key off the counter and to shoulder her bag balanced on the bar stool. Her home was sparse and run-of-the-mill, but it was hers. With one last look to make sure everything was in order, she opened the screen door, opened the main door, and stepped out onto the porch. She turned back long enough to lock the door, but the second the lock turned, she bounded down the steps of her little half-porch, all the while clicking her Volkswagen Beetle's unlock button. Along with her shoes, it was one of the few feminine staples in her life. She drove a bright green Volkswagen Bug. It was twelve years old, the air conditioning worked only half the time, and she was almost too tall for it, but it was too cute for her not to have in her life.