Story Snacks: A Collection of Bite-Sized Ideas

Impact

I can't say I'm not pee-my-pants scared at this moment. Hell, I'm pee-my-pants scared most moments. It's a character deficiency I'd hoped to address one of these days—guess that doesn't matter now. All that matters now is inhabiting my own body, feeling my heart rattle in my chest cavity, noting every time my worn Converse strike the uneven pavement and every flailing swing of my arms, feeling bile and thick saliva rise in my throat, an unfortunate side-effect of physical exertion I inherited from Mom. God, I wish I could see her right now. Cry in her arms. Who knows, maybe I will in a few seconds.

Right now though, there's only Grace. Grace in the Grace-est spot she could find herself, the place she has told me on multiple occasions she'd flee to if the world was ending. Spoiler alert, it is. I hoist myself awkwardly onto the recycling bin leaning against her squat house and firmly grasp the roof. It's searing hot, but I relish the pain as I heave myself up. I want to look cool for once. I don't, though.

"Ty." She cranes her neck to look at me with bleary eyes, hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

"Hey." I sit next to her and stare up at the sky, at the comet hurtling ever-closer to kill all of us. It's insane, but what can I do, other than accept the inevitable and spend my last few moments with the person most important to me in this world? Now isn't the time for regrets, to give in to fear. "Grace."

She looks at me, the world's imminent destruction reflected in her eyes. "I love you," she says.

I nearly fall over. She beat me to it. "I-I," I sputter. "I love you, too. I always have."

"I know, dummy." I expected to lean in and kiss her, but instead we hold each other close. Her forehead resting on my shoulder, having our heartbeats synchronize, it all feels more intimate than any kiss. I briefly wonder if we're talking about the same kind of love, if all of this is too good to be true.

Then it hits me, of course it's not, the world is—

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