The television flickered in the dark, its pale light the only thing holding the room together. The window panes swayed slightly with the soft wind. The air smelled rotten, as if something had been decaying for a long time. Beneath the television, the wooden table had swollen with mold, its edges soft and crumbling.
There was no sound.
On the screen, a news anchor was reporting something. His mouth formed words but no sound came out. The image warped. The upper half tilted, the lower dragged through streaks of red and green. Even through the distortion, something in his face felt wrong. As if he was reporting something he did not believe.
The broadcast shifted.
The blue background gave way to a large air ship, sleek, floating, almost unreal. The camera zoomed in on the open doors. There was a staircase leading to them. People were waving, smiling, their faces radiant as they entered the ship.
First came the president who said a few words before boarding the air ship and then others followed. Leaders, officials, military chiefs, all with uniforms pressed and solemn faces.
Then followed the actors, influencers, singers, industrialists.
The rich.
The visible.
They all kept waving their hands to the crowd gathering below. Kept laughing. Kept leaving. The camera never focused on the crowd.
The broadcast cut back to the anchor. For a moment, something shifted on his face, misery, perhaps or contempt? But before it could settle, he composed himself. A red headline appeared on the screen, glistening under the image of the anchor.
“The first airship departs to secure humanity’s future.”
The news continued.
Then the plug was pulled.
Chiko stood in the doorway with the plug in his hand. The room had plunged into absolute putrid darkness. He hesitated for a moment before pulling the windows shut. Outside, the light had already started to dim.
He stepped out and spotted his father, sitting faraway, on the edge of the wall, his thin shadow looming behind him. The sky was fading; the oranges were bleeding into purples.
Chiko ran to him. He smiled at his son before patting the rough bricks beside him, gesturing him to sit down with him. Chiko sat down.
“They said they will come back for us,” Chiko said, rubbing his hands on his knees. The sun was barely a dull red coin in the distance, slowly drowning in the west.
“Maybe they will.” His father ruffled Chiko’s hair.
“What if they don’t?” Chiko asked, looking at the darkening sky.
His father didn’t reply immediately. He kept his eyes on the sun. “What does it matter?” his father said simply.
The eastern sky had completely darkened. A few faint stars flickered on the horizon. A thick mist had started to creep through streets, settling low and clinging to skin.
Chiko looked down. People were on their way home. A man with a loose tie, carrying a suitcase, was silently weeping as he walked. Another old man, carried his newborn granddaughter and pointed at the sun. The child giggled in excitement and the old man smiled though his face was streaked with tears. The birds were strangely silent.
“We will be stuck on Earth,” Chiko mumbled.
His father looked at his child for a long time. Then he shrugged, his face devoid of any emotion. “I like Earth.”
“But how do we live without the sun?” Chiko gulped.
“We’ll manage,” his father replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Maybe he was well assured that this was the last lie he would tell his son.
Chiko’s vision blurred. He blinked hard but the tears came anyway. His father took his son’s face in his hands.
“Let’s not waste this. Let’s watch the sun one last time together?”
Chiko nodded and looked at the sun.
It was the last time they would see it. The sun wouldn’t rise tomorrow. The sky was now dark, except the brilliant red surrounding the dying sun.
The days were getting shorter and shorter with them getting only a few hours of daylight. But this was different. This was the end.
“It’s beautiful,” Chiko said.
His father nodded.
“It is.”
Artwork by: Frederic Edwin Church
