Sunrise

I can’t tell you why the sun stopped coming up.1

Smarter people than me have tried and failed to answer that question. Me, my BA in English is as useless now as it would have been in a decent world. Maybe if I’d stuck with physics or tried my hand at astronomy, well then maybe I could help you out. But I can’t. Everybody has a theory. You want my theory? It forgot. It decided it had something better to do than show up and gleam above our ungrateful planet like it had for the past million-million years. If I were the sun, I know I wouldn’t want to. It would take me a lot less time than that to say “fuck it, I’m heading off to some galaxy where the people appreciate me.” So there. Mystery solved. Of course, that still doesn’t explain The Blacks.2

I’m not even going to try and explain The Blacks.3

I think I can hear them now. Or maybe I can’t. It gets harder and harder to tell. Sometimes I hear this rustling, and I think maybe it’s something alive. Maybe some little animal that somehow survived, that managed to live through the cold and found some plant to eat that hadn’t died like all the others. A survivor, like me. And sometimes I’m right: Sometimes I hear this rustling, maybe tiny feet gingerly padding along the dead ground, and then it stops. What was that? Did it hear something? And of course it did. It heard a Black. They don’t smell like anything, and their footsteps barely even grace the Earth, but you can hear them. Hear them running across the field, smelling the little rustling thing, tearing through trees and wreckage to get to it. Sometimes one, sometimes a dozen, all pouncing on the poor thing, grabbing it by its hind legs as it screeches and squirms, ripping it into a cloud of blood. I’d feel bad if I hadn’t already seen it happen to human beings. The little thing has it lucky; I don’t think it has enough nerves in it to feel everything the way we feel. To feel its bones snapping, the cartilage leaking out. To feel its little skull being split open and its miniature organs being splayed. The way my dad felt it.4

This old farm house was all he left behind, that and the blanket I’m wrapped in. I was around for the weekend. Neither of us could sleep. “Let’s watch the sunrise.” So we sat on the porch and waited. And waited. And waited. Cold. Very cold. We sat there until his wristwatch said “11:59 A.M.”, and then turned off. Then the lights turned off. And the fridge, and the radio, and it became us just sitting there and scratching our heads until the screaming started. That night – morning? – was more about what we didn’t hear than what we heard, though. The sounds of no dial tones reassuring us from our phones. The sounds of no police cars driving in to save us, the sounds of no planes flying by overhead or sirens screeching to warn us. Just screaming, and matches being struck, and nails being hammered into boards being hammered over doors and windows.5

Sunrises had always been important to him. He’d wake me up when I was a little girl, bringing me out to the same porch he would ultimately become a stain on. He called them “God’s big hellos”, which is corny I know. I wish I thought of it that way. I wish I thought it was just a corny little thing he said, the sort of stupid nonsense you would tell a small child, but I see what he meant. It wasn’t stupid. He was thankful. He was genuinely grateful to be able to see that big yellow ball of gas above him every morning of every day. He was maybe one of the only people on Earth who knew just how lucky he had it. His last words were “I love you”.6

There’s definitely a Black outside.7

Hello, Future Generations. Are you reading this? I suppose in theory I’m writing this for you, although to be honest it’s just nice to have something to do other than bite my nails and recount the number of wood panels on the ceiling. I tried to do a writing exercise before, to keep my spirits up.8

“Self Description Exercise”9

She looked like an empty house, eyes gleaming with a faint submission of spirit usually reserved for dying electric lamps. Her form had grown slender, withering over the weeks of darkness until even her visible skeleton seemed better fed than her. Skin that once possessed a tanned bronze hue had soured and turned white, hanging off of her like discarded clothing. Clumps of raven hair littered the floor where she slept, some ripped out in fits of rage and others having fallen out in the throes of misery.10

Sounds harsh, right?11

Imagine having to see that in a broken mirror every morning. As you could have guessed, the “keeping my spirits up” part of that plan was a miserable failure, so I switched to this. But anyway, Future Generations. Where were we? Ah yes. I suppose you’re probably reading this now, the sunlight peering in through the cellar door as my long-since decomposed carcass still clutches the pencil with which I wrote this. “What a shame,” you’ll mutter, peering out of your futuristic space goggles. “If only she knew that the sun would be back in but a few short months.” Because it has to be, right? After that, you’ll probably take my body back to the lab to do some tests, and then give me a posthumous award for being such a good first-hand documenter. After that, you’ll most likely head home and eat dinner, discussing the events of your days with your many, many children. Maybe you’ll open a few windows to let the sunlight in. No Blacks will leap in. Your kids probably won’t even know what Blacks are. So this one’s for them:12

Imagine that awkwardly tall, lanky kid who was on every sports team in your High School. He wasn’t especially buff, but he could run very fast. I think you know the one, but this is where the comparison gets a little strange… Imagine if this boy, instead of having hands, had long, lean talons that stretched almost a foot, incapable of handling any basketball or tennis racket. Imagine that his face was stretched and warped, smooth and featureless without any mouth or ears or points of distinction save for two white-slit eyes. Imagine that he didn’t wear clothes, and instead of casting shadows like most people, he was a shadow, a being composed of smooth blackness that makes him near-impossible to see in the constant night time. Imagine that he doesn’t walk, he stalks. When he runs, he runs faster than any car you’ve ever seen. He sucks in the light, absorbing it like a sponge. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t eat. He just kills. Kills anything moving, anything alive. That’s a Black. Naturally, with those crawling around all over the planet, we didn’t last long.13

I can hear them now. Not breathing, but definitely moving. I can only keep still for so long. And I know if I try too hard, they’ll hear my heartbeat. One of them is scratching at the cellar door.14

I loved my dad. I should write that here, so you all know.15

Heartbeat.16

But there’s something I need to say, before I lose my chance. More important than any of this documentation bullshit. My dad’s last words weren’t “I love you”.17

The scratching is getting louder now. They’re more than just curious.18

My father’s last words were “don’t do it”.19

Heartbeat.20

They had him. Two of them. Holding him down. About to rip into him. Oh God. Just like they’re about to rip into me. And I had the gun. One bullet left, three to find out they were useless against The Blacks. Just one. And I used it… God help me, I used it. 21

Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat.22

On him. 23

They’re ripping through now. I can hear them… I can hear their talons shredding the feeble wood, eager for me. Eager to turn me into just another stain. To spill my blood like the ink in this pen. To shred my bones like. No. Stop. Only a little space left. Only a little time left. I did it for him. It was what he wanted. Deep down. I didn’t have enough time to think. He didn’t know what he… Didn’t know…24

I can see them now. They’ve made a hole. Sucking in the light of the moon, sucking in the light of my candles, absorbing all of it.25

I love you, dad.26

That’s it.27

Taking the light.
All rushing through at once. Casting darkness. The opposite of a28