Apocalypse (ἀποκάλυψις)
is a Greek word meaning "revelation", "an unveiling or unfolding of things not previously known and which could not be known apart from the unveiling"?
Meet five teens who all dreamed the same thing; The end of the world.
My eyes snapped open, met by the sight of an endless blue sky, its vast expanse broken only by clusters of soft, lily-white clouds. As I pushed myself upright, the scene unfolded before me—a boundless field of flowers stretching to the horizon, a tapestry of vibrant colors dancing softly in the breeze.
It felt surreal, almost too perfect, as if I had stumbled into a dream.
Blinking twice to adjust to the light, I raised my hand to block the scalding sun that showed no mercy. In the distance, a figure approached, its features blurred by the haze. Squinting, I tried to make out who it was.
It was my grandmother.
But how could it be? It couldn't be.
Staggering to my feet, I bolted toward her, arms outstretched for an embrace. She pulled me in without hesitation, wrapping me tightly in her arms and swaying us gently side to side, just like she used to.
Oh, how I'd missed those moments—those simple, perfect times.
Reluctantly, I drew back to take a better look at her. She wore a crinkled orange dress and her favorite tie-dyed scarf—the one I'd made at summer camp when I was twelve. Her eyes glimmered with warmth, and her smile radiated so brightly it reached her kind, sparkling gaze.
It was as if nothing had changed, yet everything felt different.
My mouth opened to ask her the questions that raced through my head since my eyes opened but no sound resonated no matter how hard I tried to speak. She chuckles briefly at my confusion placing her tender soft hand on my cheek, caressing it as she took the moment in.
In an instant, her carefree laughter vanished, replaced by an eerie, hollow stillness, as if she had transformed into a puppet under the control of an unseen master.
The vibrant blue sky darkened, clouds gathering into a stormy gray that mirrored the sudden shift in her expression—a cold, unreadable mask.
Her hands clamped down on my shoulders with unexpected force, the pressure making me flinch. She locked her gaze with mine, her eyes unsettlingly distant.
When she spoke, her voice was devoid of its usual warmth, each word measured and deliberate, as if reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script.
"When you return, you must run and keep on running. Don't let the crows get you, don't let the dead consume you," She hissed, her grip tightening each second.
Fear coiled tightly in my stomach, growing into a roiling pit of hysteria as I stared into my grandmother's eyes—eyes that had once been filled with warmth, wisdom, and unconditional love.
Now, they were cold, hollow, and utterly devoid of life, like windows to a soul that had vanished.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I searched desperately for a flicker of recognition, some trace of the woman who had once been my anchor.
But there was nothing.
Her gaze pierced through me as though I were a stranger, her presence now foreign and unnervingly distant. It was as if the person I loved most in the world had been swallowed whole, leaving behind only a shell.
"Run, my child, and never stop. Don't let the crows consume you, don't let the dead get you." With those words, she vanished from my arms, leaving me as cold and empty as her eyes.
I scream in agony, a sound finally emitting from my mouth. My entire body shuddered in fear and pain.
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