Idk people running away or something .. I don’t have the energy for this today ://

Sighing, Amelia Young, a beautiful woman in her late twenties, placed her freshly baked cookies on the counter. “Bruce!” She called to her seven-year-old son, who came trampling down the stairs before she could even finish her shout.

“Are the cookies done?” He asked excitedly, a wide smile gracing his youthful face, eyes twinkling with curiosity towards the world.

“Yep.” She smiled back, turning away from her son to stare out the window in disdain. “Damn, Kathy’s a bitch.” She whispered, eyes trailing over the wrecked homes and flooded streets.

Hurricane Katherine had just hit the town of Stanmoore, Oregon, and boy, she sure did a number. The poor side of town had it bad, like, really bad. Power was out, half of their homes were destroyed or flooded, and there was definitely wild animals swimming through the streets at the moment.

Although, a month or so from now, Kathy would be forgotten and there would be a new storm-related problem filling Stanmoore, like always. They could never catch a break.

She turned back to her son, giggling at how he attempted to shove three chocolate chip cookies into his mouth at once. “Calm down, Brucie. Save some for your dad!”

“I don’t think I could ever get used to this.”

A skeletal hand rests on my shoulder and squeezes. “You will, in time. This is your first—you are bound to feel something—but after your fifth or sixth,” My guide pauses, their black hooded cloak flapping in the stifling heat, scanning the horizon, the destruction. “Well, after then,” They turn to me, nothing but two golden orbs beneath the hood, just like me. “You understand you are here to do a job, that there is no time to feel anything. That it gets... easier.” I bob my head, but I don't believe any of what they have said is true. How could any of this become easier?

Rubble litters the ground, crumbled and crushed. Grey smoke billows from one of the many damaged buildings, spiralling high, twisting to join the heavy cloud that already blankets the sky. Flames spit from cracked, glassless windows, bodies of the injured lay, resting against slabs of broken walls and roofs. People, fragile humans, hurry about, yelling, frantic in their search for their loved ones, neighbours, even strangers, people they had merely passed on the street. An earthquake had shattered the town, along with the lives that lived there.

My guide touches my shoulder again and leads me around a collapsed wall of white plaster—my feet leave no footprints in the dust. A mobile phone lays before me, a deep crack lining the screen, its once pink and fluffy case now matted and dirty. It begins to ring; the tune drowned out by the surrounding screams and shouts. The caller ID reads ‘Mum’, a parent desperately wanting to hear from their child to know they are safe. I wonder where they are and if they know their mother is looking for them.

My guide tugs my shoulder again, over to a crowd who conceal something on the ground. A dusty white sheet covers a body, a body that is so small, so broken; it hurts to look at—my guide points at it, and my chest tightens. “They are just a child,” I say somberly, watching the low, trembling rise and fall of their chest.
“You have to. There is a natural order. If you don't, somebody else will have to die,” I hesitate, then reach my hand to the child’s damaged form, my fingers cold, their body already colder. I close my eyes—tingle's shiver up my arm, moving deep into my soul, and I reopen my eyes to see the child's last breath shudder from their torn lips. “That was horrible,” I mumble. “Yes,” Is all my guide says; before they move on, the bottom of their onyx cloak floating like mist over the fallen wreckage.

Someone cries out, and the crowd parts as a man push through, his face smeared with blood, dirt, sweat, his arms waving wildly above his head. He yells again, shouting a name that means nothing to some but everything to another. A small boy appears from behind a group of people; tears streak his round face, and a drop of red drips down the brown skin on his leg. The man stumbles to the ground, his mouth wide in a silent cry, his arms out wide, stretching, reaching for the boy. A cheer rises from everybody watching as the boy hurries forward, his shoeless feet slapping over the dust, jumping over the rubble. Their bodies collide with an audible thump, the small boys head, buried, nestled into the crook of the man's neck. “See,” my guide says, “happiness can be found.” That’s not happiness, I think; that’s relief. Something families shouldn't have to feel. They shouldn’t have to worry about if they will ever see their loved ones again; they shouldn't have to hold one another so tightly they leave marks.

My guide nudges me. “I know what you are thinking, but some things can’t be stopped; some things have to happen. The best we can do in these times is help ease the pain of those suffering.” They hold out their skeletal hand for me to take. “Come.”

Canon: Set during “Nightmare Vacation” (Ep. 88, S5 E16)

The hurricane had continued to blow for what seemed like hours. Their room was torn apart with a wall missing and the bathroom gone.

The quartet was stuck huddled against the interior door frame just off the hallway. The guys had moved the girls behind them the best they could.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the storm ended. All became silent.

“I think…”

“Don’t say it, Larry,” Jennifer warned, breathlessly. She let go of her embrace on Larry.

Larry frowned and stayed silent.

Mary Anne hugged Balki. “Oh, Balki!”

“There, there, my little lamb shank,” Balki murmured, returning her embrace. They continued whispering to each other.

Larry glanced at them and sighed. He knew he really did it this time. This was all his fault. He didn’t blame Jennifer for not wanting to be near him.

Larry was too busy wallowing in his misery to hear Jennifer whisper his name. When she received no response, she gently slipped her arms around his chest. He jumped slightly and turned to her.

“I’m sorry, Larry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She rested her head on the back of his shoulder.

He gripped her arms on his chest. He felt some relief at least where she was concerned, but as far as vacations went, he felt like babasticki.

-End-

If the world was ending, Would you still be by my side? If the sky was falling, Would you be my place to hide? If the earth exploded, Would you still be mine? If the gun was loaded, Would you cross the line To save me? Or would you be the one To end my life? If the sun burnt out? Would you provide me with light? If the dead took scout, Would you and I both fight? If the sea took over, Would our love survive? Or would it drown like the countless others? If aliens payed us a visit, Would we be together to ask them why? If I died, Would you come and say goodbye? Or would you instead wave hello? Because you couldn’t stand a life without mine. So you came with me in the afterglow. What I really want to say, Is will our love forever last, To this day? Even if death do us apart? I know deep inside That it won’t. Since you have already left But you will forever rest in my heart.

We want our minds to trick us. We crave the safety of illusions. We believe the lies they tell us. Since it’s better than the truth’s confusions. It’s better than eternal heartbreak So once again I will always ask, Will our love forever last?

(Continuation of The Punishment of Sodom that I wrote earlier this week).

After what I believed had been hours of watching the stormy, dark clouds far away punishing Sodom with heavy lightening and fire, I got up on my tired feet and started slowly walking back. I wanted to go back to the city I had grown up into, yet I was dreading what I would find. Death, destruction and chaos. Could anyone have survived? Had the thorny brambles Raphael made break from the ground tied all citizens’ ankles but mine, thus dooming them to death?

I felt the warmth of my tears come to my eyes and I couldn’t stop let them roll down my dirty, dusty face. As an old man, the angel Raphael had indeed been cruelly treated by many rich, impertinent citizens, but I knew others who definitely didn’t deserve such a fate. Had their lives been spared? What about me? I might have survived this catastrophe but I was left with nothing! What could I possibly do to survive now? I wondered if my goats were still alive.

I walked for endless hours. When I finally arrived, very late at night, I realised how hungry I was. Sodom had been reduced to ashes and dust. My heart tightened in my chest as I walked through the once vibrant streets of Sodom only to realise nobody was there. I was completely alone. I suddenly saw what I believed were two bodies on the ground. But they were nothing but two piles of ash in human shape. A lump formed in my throat. I was overcome with sorrow but a feeling of revolt started growing in my chest. So much chaos and pain. Why, why, why? Exhaustion took over me and I dropped on the ground. I laid my head against my knees and cried like a little boy. I wished I was dead too.

“Why did you do this, Raphael?” I yelled between my sobs.

No sign of the relentless angel. Eventually I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up, the sun was starting to paint it’s first rays in the sky. It was then that I heard a noise, far away. A noise I recognised very well.

“Goats! My goats!”

I was very weak, but I managed to find some strength to get up and run towards the noise. Was it possible that my goats had been spared? I ran and ran and saw three goats in the distance. Actually a goat and two kids. I cried again, but this time my tears were tears of joy. The three animals recognised me as well as they came to me bleating when I approached.

“Bless the Lord, you are alive.” I cried as I stroked their soft heads.

How that was possible I didn’t know but suddenly I heard steps behind me. I turned around. It was the old man. Not the beautiful, yet merciless angel that had destroyed my city, but the old man in rags I had helped.

“Good to see you again, lad. Things got very bad here.”

“I can see that.” I said, hardly holding my revolt. Raphael must have noticed though as he carried on:

“Yes, these things are never pleasant for us, angels, either. When all this started, I made your goats run away as I know you depend on them. They came back eventually, probably looking for you. You will also be pleased to know that a few like you, shepherds and shepherdesses, were out of the city with their animals when the punishment happened, hence they were spared. Michael and Gabriel guided them to an oasis in the middle of the desert.” he pointed his finger towards the south and proceeded. “You will find these survivors if you follow this direction. Take your goats, find them and build a new city again. That will be your task now. Build a city with humble, kind and righteous citizens.”

I looked in the direction he was pointing but when I turned again to him to ask more questions, Raphael was gone. Had he even been there or was my troubled mind starting to play tricks on me? The sun beams warmed my face as I looked in the direction of the place he had said a few of my fellow citizens were. I called my goats and after having drank some milk from the mother goat, I started walking again followed by her and the kids. I was still very tired but, if I had not dreamed that Raphael had just spoken to me, the prospective of finding survivors nourished my whole body with renewed strength. And hope.

The freak storm was unexpected. When Ambrose sought those tracks in the snow, he had not mentally braced himself for the adverse snowfall. At first it was a soft trickle which turned into determined balls. Like ice cream sized scoops that began to swallow the grass and consume the ground in a white blanket. The prints he was tracking were lost instantly. As he looked back, his sense of direction faded as the balls of ice impaired his vision like a great physical fog. The temperature dropped and he could feel his boots solidifying slowly but surely into ice. Ambrose realised he had little time left before he became one with the heavy snow.

He took out the flask of oil, gifted to him by his master, and flung a line against the closest tree. He uttered words of Ignis. Flames lit the slick oil on the tree and despite the conditions, they burned true and the tree was aflame. Ambrose watched the flames battle against the snow. He drew his sword and set it aflame. Just as he hear that familiar shrill of a mare. He cut into the snow to make sure his legs succumbed to frost bite. For a brief moment, he wondered whether his master had awoken and whether he was still alive.

Toby and his father were two of the survivors of what they now called ‘The Last Day’. It was the day an asteroid hit the moon and, subsequently, threw the Earth in to chaos. The tides were the first things to be effected, followed by the tectonic plates, leading to a mass eruption event. All active volcanoes across the globe erupted almost simultaneously. They thought everyone would die and almost everyone did.

Toby’s father had been in the military and managed to access one of their underground vaults; much to his superiors’ displeasure. Toby Sr showed up past their perimeter with twelve brothers, and sisters, in arms, 30 odd civilians and his son. Once the group had made their way in there was nothing the soldier’s superiors could do but watch. In the end it turned out that the superiors would have died within 24 hours of the vault being sealed.

There was a problem with the air filtration system which meant that they needed to fix it stat or they would all be dead by the following sunset. If there even was a sunset anymore. Thankfully, Toby’s father’s best friend, Ryan was a military engineer and another two of the civilians, another father-son duo, were both engineers as well. They got right on the repairs as Toby’s father helped get everyone set up in the large space.

He kept Toby against his side as he delegated to those around him; simply ignoring the superiors who would scoff at him giving them directions. Toby soon fell asleep; his head lolling against his father’s neck.

The next thing Toby knew he woke up in a small cot-like bed curled up in a pile of blankets. He startled at an unexpected noise behind him and turned to find Ryan digging through a rucksack.

“Uncle Ryan,” he said rubbing sleep from him eyes, “what’s going on?”

Ryan turned at the soft sound of his voice. “Hey, bud,” he looked Toby over worriedly, “you’ve been sleeping like the dead for the past ten hours.” Ryan didn’t know much about toddlers but he was sure they didn’t normally sleep for such long intervals.

Toby looked down at the cot and back at Ryan. “Where’s daddy?” he asked.

Ryan looked to the door of the room they were in. Toby hadn’t even noticed the room before.

“He’s just trying to help everyone get settled,” Ryan replied, “and then he’ll be back.” Ryan scrubbed his hand down over his eyes and face. “Even he needs to sleep sometimes, surely.”

Toby giggled. He remembered his mum used to say the same exact thing bu- Toby looked at Ryan with big round eyes. “Where’s mummy?” he asked his voice shaking.

Ryan took one look at him and stepped forward to bring him into a hug. “Your mummy’s at home, Toby,” he said.

“Will we be going home soon?” Toby asked.

Ryan looked like he had aged 10 years in 10 seconds. “Unfortunately not.”

“Will mummy be coming here?”

This time Ryan couldn’t bring himself to answer and he held Toby to his chest. Toby started crying quietly. Ryan wasn’t sure if he’d remembered what had happened or just realised what his mother not being there meant; either way it broke his heart to see Toby like this. He vowed then to help his best friend bring light back into his little boy’s life.

Debris was piled high, cluttering the streets that earlier in the day people walked to get to work and school. Buildings had collapsed in on themselves, taking furniture and livelihoods with them, riding families of homes and comfort. All that could be found in these piles of rubble was lost hope and tragedy. Many bodies of the people that we once knew and loved would soon be found among the emotions and sanity we had lost in the devastation. I spot a small stuffed toy sitting between fallen bricks and timber. It’s extremely possible that the small owner of that small toy was also laying between such materials, a lifeless body, a lost soul. The worst part of this stings with every passing minute: there’s nothing we could have done to prevent this. Or to prevent it consuming us again?

He emerged from the rubble gasping for breath. The cold air pierced his lungs. He struggled to get up, white dust clouded around him as he pushed the heavy planks aside. His lungs once again filled up with the dust and a coughing fit overtook him, his remaining strength gone. When the dust settled and his breath was steady, he shifted where he was pinned. His house. The house that he had just come back to after all those years, was gone. Memories that had been pushed aside for so long lay under the rubble. He had hoped that seeing that green couch or the yellowing refrigerator would loosen the memories in his mind, but it was too late. He tried again to shift his legs, and with a crash around him they were free from the forest green planks. Slowly, he got to his knees, careful not to step on anything that might crumple beneath him. Standing, he surveyed the damage. The purple and pink sunset with palm tree skyline mocked him. It had been seventeen years since he left California and now that he was back, he wished he could hop on a plane and go back to his apartment in Boston. But the time for that was gone, he now had to face the fact he was in this for the long haul. Sirens erupted in the distance and cries of help could be heard. Gazing down the street he saw that many houses were effected and needed help, but none of that mattered. None of them held the memories that he needed.