The Fall and Other Stories

The Fall

 The eruption came just as scientists had predicted.

It was a bright morning in June. The sky was a brilliant blue, there was a slight breeze, and the air was crisp and clear. I woke up choking on dread, but looking out the window and seeing the world look so peaceful made me wonder if perhaps there had been a mistake.

I kept the television off all day. I did not want to know when the end was coming. I put on my favorite dress (a loose, ivory thing full of flares and ruffles) and made my way through my village for what would probably be the last time. People were panicking, running around with grief and terror on their faces, searching for loved ones and any hope of escape, of reaching higher land. I walked slowly down the cobblestone streets, taking in the cream-colored cottages with their red terracotta roofs, the flower boxes people placed in their windows, the streetlights and stone fountain in the village square.

When I returned to my home, I cleaned it a bit. I dusted the bookshelf, washed the dishes from this morning's breakfast, and swept the floor. I opened the curtains wide and let in as much sunlight as I could. Then I grabbed my cat and a pale blue sweater and left for Desanges Point.

The sea shimmered as it gently crashed against the white cliffs, the sound of the waves relaxing me as I settled down in the soft green grass. Emi chased butterflies around me, her orange fur dappled in the sunlight. She occasionally came to me for attention and I stroked her, cooing her name and making kissing noises, cherishing the last few hours I had with my angel.

Eventually, the waves began to strengthen and the air grew chilly. I wrapped myself in my sweater and clutched Emi close to my chest. She growled lowly, sensing something was wrong but not sure what. The wind picked up and I knew the scientists were right. Emi and I stayed like that until the sun began to set and the sky shifted from blue to pink and yellow. I could smell smoke in the air and saw the first bits of ash land beside me. When the waves became harsh enough for water to splash boiling over the cliff's edge, I knew it was time to fall.

I stood and placed Emi at my feet, but she began to mew in fear and pawed at me to hold her again. I carried her as I walked, calm, serene, with my head high and my spine straight. I was not afraid. I felt...free. I would not sit around and wait for my death, cowering in fear, nor would I attempt to escape it. There were people who would crowd onto planes and helicopters, desperate to avoid the lava and boiling seas, but they were fools. They would eventually perish. I would embrace death with open arms and a smile on my face, glad to have lived the life I had.

It was a relief, really. Life was full of so much stress, and would only be more stressful for those that somehow managed to survive. I did not understand why people wanted to live through the apocalypse. My life was good, and I was happy, and I did not want to live with the bittersweet memories of everything I had before the end of the world.

I stood just beyond the reach of the boiling seawater. I did not want to burn. I wanted to fly. I wanted to take off and never come back, and I suppose I would. But first I would crash, and it would be painful, and then it would be over. I held Emi in my arms. I would not leave her alone with her fear, wondering why I had abandoned her. I closed my eyes, took one last breath, and ran.

This is what it is to fall: to care so little for life you throw it away, to care so much for it you cannot bear to see it change. To fall, to crash, to burn; I was angel thrown from heaven.

But before I could fall, I leapt.