The Takeover

one: the reality of it all

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Waking up that morning was just like any morning, I dreaded getting out of bed and going to school. It was the 17th of November, the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon as I managed out of bed, the cold hardwood floors creaking beneath my bare feet.

Just as I pulled on a thick pair of wool socks I heard my mother calling up the stairs, her voice echoing through the otherwise quiet upper level.

At this point, there was a buzz in the news about what was happening, played down as a few riots spread throughout the country, nothing too far out of the ordinary.

There was no real panic sweeping the nation, a press conference put on by the president calmed whatever fears people did have as he promised everything was under control, but that was only the beginning.

It's funny how we produce movies and books depicting the world coming to a chaotic end, just for the purpose of entertainment. A zombie apocalypse could never happen, the world being taken over by apes was far fetched, all of it was unrealistic.

That's the thing about reality, we all find some way to escape it, whether it be through going on vacation to an oasis of cartoon characters and greasy overpriced food or reading a book about a wizarding world we all hoped to receive a letter from, it was all an escape.

An escape from the stress and pressure placed on our shoulders to be the best we can be.

An escape from the problems plaguing our lives that we choose to patch up with expensive items, luxury vacations and saying a simple "ill deal with it later" in which it never gets dealt with.

But what happens when you can't escape reality? When it slaps you in the face, the stinging sensation something you cannot ignore.

I was a sixteen-year-old girl, the only reality I had to face was whether or not I would fail that math test I neglected to study for the night before. Whether or not Evan from sixth period would notice my patterned romper I wore that day for the sole purpose of impressing him.

The reality of all that being it would not matter in ten years time whether or not I failed that stupid math test, or if Evan in sixth period noticed me, hell it wouldn't even matter in five.

I would not be embarking on my journey to college to plunge myself into debt and attain the career I dreamed of. I wouldn't fall into the cycle of getting married, having kids, working until I cannot anymore, I wouldn't do any of that.

The reality of it all is in four months my parents were going to leave me in an underground bunker with my baby sister and never come back.

They were going to be apart of the 6 billion people who died during what they call "The Takeover".

But for now, my mother sat at the countertop, sipping her heavily creamed coffee out of the blue mug I had gotten her last Mother's Day.

A vibrant satin head wrap kept her obsidian curly hair hidden from view, with the exception of a couple of curls unneatly poking out from the bottom.

A brown sack sat neatly perched in the middle of the counter, my name written in my mother's clumsy cursive. She had always packed me a good lunch, a sandwich, a fruit or veggie, a pack of fruit snacks and a Capri-sun juice box.

Our lives took place like clockwork each and every day, my mother leaves at seven for work, not before cooing over my baby sister Olivera, their "miracle" baby so they called her.

She had just turned one a couple of weeks prior, leaving a fifteen year age gap between the two of us. Most would find that odd but my mother and father had me at twenty, and when my mother turned 34 she decided she wanted to have another baby, she accredited it to baby fever.