Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Today, the cloud cover seems different. Still fearsome, darkened by the ashes that suffocated our world. But different.
I find Cecilie on the old fort's walls, staring at the sky while a strong wind tears at her purple dress and rattles the beads in her multiple silver tresses. In the morning chill, I climb the steps fast, rubbing my bare arms to agitate my blood.
The old woman acknowledges my presence with a nod, never taking her eyes from the daunting sky.
"Listen to the wind, it brings change, Lucien."
"Good change or bad?"
My voice sounds gruff from the cold, the ashes, or losing everything I held dear.
"Some changes are bad, aye. This one—we will see. Where is the boy?"
"Still asleep. About that boy, Cecilie, he—."
She turns her head with the speed of a viper, well aware of the direction my thoughts travel. Her words cut the morning air like swords.
"He's our responsibility, Lucien, and our future."
I know better than to press my point, not able to explain why the child's presence makes me uneasy, recalls visions of the faces of my own lost daughters.
We found him in the gatehouse once the ashes stopped falling. At five or six years, he is thin and silent. He hasn't spoken a word, just curled up in a corner of the old powder magazine we made our home, barely eating the morsels Cecilie fed him.
In the old days, she would have been a witch, a wise woman, sought for counsel by leaders. Or at least by those not too proud to listen to a crone's knowledge beyond earthly matters. She is also the reason I am alive and perhaps the only living soul, except for me and the boy.
I watch her turn and descend the stairs painstakingly slow, using her cane to prevent slipping in the omnipresent ashes. Halfway down, she stops to throw me a stern glance.
"It's Christmas, today."
I hesitate, not sure how I'm meant to react to this piece of random information. I've no idea if it's true. The day the meteor on a collision course with Earth was spotted, holidays lost their importance.
~
Panic sent people into frantic activity. Clever ideas to steer the meteor away from our precious marble were voiced, discussed, and failed. Billions of tons of weaponry stored in different nations' arsenals weren't capable to destroy the deadly rock of doom hurling our way.
Politicians looked for someone to blame. Meanwhile, scientists fought endless debates about probable impact zones and the damage the hit would cause. Finally, they agreed it targeted a sparsely populated area of the Pacific Ocean, only endangering small islands between Australia and Asia.
