Blinding

Spoiler

(Awkwardly rated for language.)
This is part of BehindtheMask's prize for winning first in my contest. Since the contest was "Let's Get Apocalyptic," she requested that I write my own short story version of the apocalypse. I was pretty pumped by that challenge. This little story was written all in one sitting, edited a bit later, in a burst of inspiration(!) I can't actually say I enjoyed writing it considering the subject matter actually made me a little sick to my stomach, but nonetheless, I think it's a keeper. Feel free to tear to shreds, but ultimately, I want BehindtheMask to enjoy this. (Thank you again, dear, for entering!...and I'll have your picture finished eventually. ^^')
Much loves,
Bunny

*edited


Awake again at 6:40 on a Saturday. This is stupid, I think through the blur of fading dreams and grogginess. I check the alarm clock beside my bed a couple times, shivering as I have to reach out of the warm cocoon of my comforter in order to pull the clock close enough to see the numbers. My room is always cold, and this ungodly early hour on a Saturday in midwinter doesn't help. I clench my eyes tightly, knowing that sleep isn't really an option anymore. When I open them again, I feel a little more awake, senses sharpened by the dull pain of squeezing my eyelids together so hard. 
Hazy gray light creeps into my room through the slots of my white, wooden shutters, sucking the color from my bedroom's blue walls, hanging artwork, various knick-knacks. It's probably snowing outside, I think, smiling softly to myself. I love this kind of weather.

My mom leaves for a quick trip to the gym around 8:45.
"Sure you don't wanna go?" she asks, trying to persuade me to join her as she's tying up the laces on her sneaakers. I stare blankly at her, look down at my cut up t-shirt, pajama shorts--perfect public attire. I run a hand through my messy blonde hair, and casually say, "Yeah, mom, I'm not feelin' it."
She shakes her head at me but doesn't ask again. Quick kisses are exchanged, and then she's out the door and gone. I stand in the kitchen alone for a moment, the sound of my cat crunching her dry food beside the bar an awkward disturbance to the silence. Looking out the diamond-paned window on the other side of the small kitchen, I stare out into the gray blur of a snow flurry. Without glasses, I can't see much detail, only variances of light and shadow and the jostling of the branches of the trees by the wind.
I rock back and forth on my feet, trying to ward off frostbite, but after deciding standing here in the cold won't make the tile any less frigid, I retreat. I walk back toward my bedroom, feeling a little nauseated for some reason. Maybe an empty stomach, I think, but my desire for warmth outweighs possible hunger. 
Down the short hall, past my bathroom, the spare bedroom, approaching my mother's room, I turn right. I'm looking into my room, and an inexplicable anxiety washes over me. I can feel the color drain from my face, my stomach flip, and I fear for a second that I'm going to vomit all over my beige carpet, but that sensation passes. Suddenly I'm aware that I'm not the only one in the room.

"I'm Flavius," the man said, his golden curls shaking as he reaches out from his seat at my desk to offer his hand. I stare at it, at him, at the hand again. His skin is the color of coffee creamer with a faintly irridescent sheen to it like a film of mother of pearl, veins running blue beneath. Looking back into his patient face, I try to make sense of the flawlessness I see, a perfect symmetry in his angluar yet delicate features that my mind had never had occasion to process. His eyes are a deep shade of brown, or perhaps purple; I can't quite tell, for they seem to change colors each passing second. Blinking in the languid manner of one with plenty of time to spare, he smiles expectantly, still offering his hand. I swallow hard. 
"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" I rush out, glaring at him from the other side of my bed. I figure if he turns out to be some sort of psychopath/serial rapist, then my bed could serve as a hindrance in snatching me. The thought crosses my mind that I really should've gone to the gym with my mom, and I close my eyes momentarily, allowing the pointless regret to ebb and flow. 
Flavius chuckles lightly if a bit uneasily, and I look at him again to see him rubbing the back of his head. "Well, honey, who I am is not as important as why I'm here."
When he notices the stasis of my hostile expression, he continues: "I'm here to give a warning. My brothers and sisters, we're goin' 'round, giving the heads up to the young and promising people of this generation. It's the least we can do, really."
"Warning for what?" I ask hesitantly. I hear my blood rushing in my ears and my mouth goes dry. I want to go back to sleep, pretend that this is some sort of dream...and I haven't even heard the worst of the news.
Flavius flashes an ironic smile and says, "The apocalypse, my dear."

It's only 9:20, yet I feel as if I've been sitting here at my desk for hours, staring blindly at my crowded bulletin board on the wall cluttered with cut out fragments of my life and interests. Flavius has been gone not ten minutes, but when I had sat in my rickety desk chair, I remember the seat being cold. He never did tell me who he was--or how he got into my house for that matter--and when he had finished delivering his doomsday message, he had stood up, situated a black hat atop his bright hair, straightened his necktie, and left, walking out my front door as if he had lived here his whole life. 
I wipe at my eyes and find tears there again, for thinking about Flavius makes me feel unreachably sad for some reason, and not just because of his dark words. 
I turn the phrase over in my head a few times, like the careful observation of a glass marble, over and around in my mind as if in hands, looking into the words for meaning. "Young and promising." Sure, I had the "young" going for me, but as for the latter part, the intruder hadn't bothered to elaborate. Focusing on the collage of tacked-up magazine clippings, postcards, trinkets before me, I felt an aching in my temples. What could I possibly have to offer a dead world?

"They're all dying in their sleep. On then other side of the planet, half the human race is gone, and no one even knows over here. It's more humane, I think, than fire raining from the sky, flash floods, tsunamis--" he laughs "--a plague of locusts.
"Just one day, you know. No matter the hour, on this date, those who sleep never awake. It's simple, painless. And when they die, they disappear. We don't want a bunch of decaying humans lying around for our chosen ones to deal with. Trust me, you'll have enough problems in the aftermath without nearly seven billion dead bodies."
"I'm not a religious person."
"Hm?"
"I'm not religious. I don't...I don't believe in God. Not like people around here do, anyways. I'm not going to be some sort of wayward disciple if this is what you're signing me up for."
Flavius' shining smile doesn't waver, and it dawns on me that the suited young man before me isn't anywhere near human; a human being couldn't dole out instructions for the end of the world and keep smiling. "Of course not," he says. "No one expects you to 'spread the message' or whatever. Besides, this isn't about you. Not really. This is about your generation, and the chosen few from that, getting a fresh start."
I sigh and message the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, feeling aggravated and jittery. "This is absurd," I mutter. "How...Why the hell should I believe you? I mean, you're in my bedroom. I don't know how you even got in here." I look over my shoulder toward the door as if a camera crew might be hiding around the corner, filming my confusion and waiting for the right time to jump and out say, "Gotcha!" I frown.
Flavius purses his lips in thought. "Well," he begins, "You're just goin' to have to take my word for it, I suppose. We have others monitoring international news feeds and communication. We don't want widespread panic, right?" He adjusts his already straight tie then proceeds to avert the subject.
"But you know, in China right now, they're already working to operate electric generators and shut down those they don't need. Those clever devils had the foresight to warn only those who knew how to work those great generators so they wouldn't face meltdowns and blackouts. 
"You think they warned anyone who didn't serve a particular purpose crucial to survival? No, not at all. This is survival of the knowledgeable. The weakest are those who can't make up their minds. I won't keep you from telling others, but you may be surprised who will listen and who won't.
"Anyways, before sunrise tomorrow, don't sleep a wink, and don't think you can get by with just a little nap or a doze. You'll be out and gone before you realize it."
"What comes after that?"
Flavius' wolfish grin finally wavers. "That's for the dead to know."

I'm crying now, not just tearing up. My shoulders shake, and my breathing is irregular, and my face stings from the tracks of heavy tears. I feel my lips pull into a grimace, and as I try in vain to suppress these weak emotions, I only choke and hiccup like a child. I don't bother to wipe at the deluge pouring from my eyes, numbly watching the salty droplets as they drip off my nose and cheeks onto the pristine, white surface of my desk. My nails dig into my scalp as I sob, and corrosive panic begins to well up inside me. I have no clue what to do now, where to go, whom to tell. I only know that I don't want to be alone.
Behind me, I hear a dainty mew, and I look over my shoulder to see my cat sitting on my bed, licking her back paw in a contortionist's position. 
I twist around in my seat to pet her little gray head, and she answers with an odd cooing noise signifying annoyance. I'm still whimpering stupidly, but her presence is comforting. I take in great gulps of air, trying to fill my lungs until they'll burst. I imagine for a moment that they really would burst if I breathed deeply enough. I'd implode. I'd cave in like a popped balloon, the life and oxygen rushing out of me at once. Maybe it would hurt. Maybe I would only feel the initial jolt of the rupture and then I'd be gone. Poof. A soap bubble. 
I rest my forehead on the cool surface of my desk, and sigh as the tears finally stop. Now I just feel drained, wrung dry, pathetic. I want to sleep.

"Well, you have the whole day to decide your plan of action. Nightfall is when you need to start worrying. I'd suggest, decide whom you think would be worth saving. If you have friends that might not have been warned, but you think they could be useful in the future, I'd contact them soon. You don't wanna spring this sort of thing on teenagers and expect them to comply."
"Like what you're doing to me?" I'm staring at my toes. I need to repaint my nails, for the sparkly pink polish is chipping a lot. Homeless toes, I think dryly.
"Heh, yes, but you believe me, don't you? Otherwise you would've told me to leave by now or call the cops. Trust me, I've had that happen countless times today. But that's not my business. It's their death, not mine. You're a smart one, though. I think you'll be able to make it through this if you'll just get past your concern for everyone else."
"You're asking me to let the people I love die?" The words sound strange and hollow coming from my mouth, like the lines of some tragic heroine in a movie at the climax of the plot. I feel I can relate. It seems that from here on, everything else will just be falling action.
"I'm only asking you to be a little selfish. Don't go out of your way to convince people that don't want to listen, and don't try to save every damn person you know. Allowing those like you to choose companions for after the apocalypse is just a way of gaining some trust from you. Enough members of both sexes have been chosen for repopulation, and proximity to other future survivors was also taken into account. You won't be alone. Just...a little thinned out.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm just being honest with you. Would you rather me lie and say that everything is going to be ok?"

I hear the front door open, and I'm standing at my bathroom sink, brushing my teeth. It's 9:50. There's still a lot of day left, but my mother is scheduled to work tonight at the surgical hospital. She'll be taking a nap this afternoon to rest up before the twelve hour shift. I have until 1:00 to decide what to do about that. 
The floorboards in the hallway creak as she passes the bathroom to go to her room, and I wipe excess toothpaste from the corner of my mouth. My eyes still look a little red from my moment earlier, but it isn't too noticeable. I'll just finish getting ready for the day, I'll make some phone calls, and I'll go to the nearby coffee shop. I need out of the house, and I need to see my friends. I can't tell if this is me holding onto the remaining threads of normal life in a sorry attempt to stitch together a replacement for tomorrow or if I'm just running away. 

"I should probably leave you to yourself now," Flavius says, his glow and voice subdued. "I know that this is a lot to take in all at once, but please don't...do something stupid. You were chosen for a reason, and we trust you to make the right choices for yourself. Besides, you have all day to let it soak in." He's standing now, putting his hat back on. His dark eyes glint as he shoots me an unnerving wink. "Don't dwell on it too much, kid. All you've gotta do is pull an all-nighter, right?" He straightens his black necktie. He's gone.
Cue breakdown.

11:15 and I'm ready to crawl out of my skin. I feel like ants are marching under my pallid flesh. I'm sitting at my desk again, a blank sheet of paper and pens before me lined up in a pretty little line. I thought a creative outlet might help, but I'm finding it difficult to think straight, let alone draw, and every time I reach for a pen, the trembling in my hands shoves me swiftly into motionlessness again. 
I juggled the idea of texting a couple close friends to meet me somewhere, provide a distraction. But that thought just made me question whom I would contact, for what reason, and the idea of sending a text message to talk to someone that could very well be dead and gone tomorrow morning seemed particularly disturbing. 
Time for a couple phone calls.

"Hello?"
"Hey, Andi!" I'm trying too hard to sound chipper. Chill out.
"Hey. What's up?"
"I was just going to go to Hastings for some coffee, so I figured I'd call you and Claire. You wanna meet me over there in a minute?" Better.
"Um, yeah, lemme see if I can."
"Are you busy?" Don't let her hear the panic.
"Pre-calc homework."
"Ah."
While she's gone, I find myself worrying my thumb nail between my front teeth. What's the matter with me? I never bite my nails.
"Ok, I can go. See you in a minute?"
"Yeah, I'm on my way! I'll call Claire." One down.
"Ok. Bye."
"Bye."
I stare at my phone for a second, and for a moment I can't remember where I am. I hiss through my teeth and rub my eyes with my knuckles, leaving me momentarily seeing stars. I wonder vaguely why I'm so affected by Flavius' visit. Surely this isn't happening. It's a joke. The bastard broke into my home while I was...in the kitchen and...and he was just waiting in my room to...freak me out. Yes. He broke into my home to...
"Dammit," I mutter.
I open my contacts, press Claire's number, hold the phone to my ear. As it rings, I count my breaths.

"Claire not coming?" Andi asks as I move up to order my coffee. She stands with her arms folded, an impassive expression on her face. I force myself to pay attention to the barista while really terrible thoughts crowd about inside my skull. My twisted brain keeps conjuring images of bloated corpses and gaping holes in walls, splintered supports protruding like crooked teeth. It's exaggerated, I know, but despite my morbid fantasies, I can't shake the thought running on loop inside my head.
These people have no idea what's happening.
"No, she said she can't make it," I answer Andi after I finish ordering. House coffee, black. "Well, she said she'd try. You know how that is." 
Andi smirks and nods, moves up to order in turn, pushing back a curl of dark blond hair behind her ear. I walk away and choose a seat in the back corner of the small space, sit down in a green suede armchair. This is such a familiar scene and situation that I suddenly feel like an intruder. When Andi joins me, I see she has both of our drinks, and I realize I must have spaced out. 
"Is something wrong?" she asks, sitting across from me and crossing her legs. She hands me my coffee, and the warmth from the disposable cup is slightly painful. I hadn't realized just how cold my hands were. For a second, no longer, I entertain the idea of spilling everything that happened this morning, but then my friend catches my gaze. Swallowing hard, I glance past her, out the window at the snow before I answer, "Will you call Claire? Tell her she needs to be here now. It's an emergency."
"Why--"
"Fine, I'll do it."
I'm reaching for my phone when she stops me. "No, I've got it," she says warily. "Really, what's going on?" I look up into her face. We made it this far together. From seventh to eleventh grade, we've remained friends, close except for a couple rough patches. We're stupid together, we do silly things that kids our age would probably mock. We'll be young and idiotic forever, I think.
"I'll tell you both when she gets here," I say, falling silent.

When I walk into my house, I have to knock the toes of my boots against the threshold of the door to dislodge the snow. While at the coffee shop, the flurry picked up, dusting everything in a powdery layer of fine ice. It had gotten colder, and the temperature inside our house remained at a toasty 68 degrees fahrenheit. I shiver, trudge down the hall with squeaking boots. I had seen my mom sitting on the couch, cat resting in her lap. I figured animals were exceptions to the sleeping death, but I couldn't help but freak out momentarily, panic for them both. She looks up as I enter, but I hurry out of her line of vision and retreat to my room. I don't bother to untie my laces, and removing my jacket, I sit right on the floor, still reeling.
They didn't believe me.

I consider taking a nap. I really think about it. My bed is still unmade and looks quite inviting. It would be so simple to crawl under the covers. I'd just wait for my mom to lie down, too, in case the disappearance thing happens instantly. I don't want her to worry.
That's when I realize I've made the decision without even thinking. I'm just going to let her go. My own mother...
I bite my bottom lip and ignore the prickling in my eyes and the bridge of my nose. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should tell her. And then I think about my other family members, about all the people I could've told but didn't. About the friends I had hoped would listen to me but didn't. 
Then an unfamiliar relief washes over me. It isn't my problem, I realize. This is the end. Someone has to die. I feel like a terrible person for thinking this way, for abandoning my friends and family like this, for feeding them to the wolves. I don't want to lose them, don't want to be responsible for their lives like this, but I don't really have another option if what Flavius had said was true. I run my hands through my hair and catch snowflakes that had sprinkled my head, the beautiful, unique little flakes melting, disappearing at the heat of my touch.

I stand up off the floor and walk to the living room. Mom is still sitting with the cat, watching television. I toe over to her side and sit on the ugly green carpet beside the couch and bother the cat. She glares at me from big blue eyes, and I stick my tongue out at her. 
"How was Andi? Did Claire end up going?"
"Yeah, they were both good. We just kinda sat around and chatted."
"Did you not want to hang around with them a little longer? I'm going to go lay down in a minute. I don't want you to be bored."
"Naw, I'll be fine. I have some Pre-calculus homework to take care of besides."
We sit like that a little longer, then she starts to get up, handing the cat to me so she can stand. I take her place on the couch, and it's warm and indented from people sitting in that one spot so much. The cat's not pleased, so she leaves to go eat or something. 
"Well, I'll be up in a little bit. If you want to go do something, just leave me a note, ok?"
She gives me a kiss, and I say I will and that I love her.
I remember when I was little, six or so, and she was still a waitress at this Mexican food restaurant. She had to work late shifts a lot, so I would stay with my grandparents. It devastated me to see her leave, and I would cry and hug her legs at first, then when it got easier I would just stand in the entryway and watch her go. But I always made sure, no matter what was being said before that my last words to here were, "I love you." It was a morbid thought as a little girl, but I feared that every time she left could be the last time I saw my mom. I wanted her to know I loved her no matter what happened. I got older, and those dark thoughts lost some of their seriousness.
But now, I think that had been a smart practice.

I managed to draw something, a gory little doodle of a girl with a large bird in her arms. One of her eyes is missing, the organ hanging from the beak of the bird. She doesn't appear too phased by this fact, and I envy her stoicism. It's 2:30, and I've forced myself to stay in my room all this time, doing homework, making my bed, sketching, anything to occupy the time. I figure I'll go get another cup of coffee in a couple hours. It's gonna be a long night. Now is as good a time as any to face my darkest fear, so I push my drawing utensils aside. 
I'm standing at the closed door of my mother's room. I press my hand against the cool white surface, push. 
I look into the calming light blue room, at the picture I painted for her on Mother's Day hanging on the far wall, at the white vanity with the quaintly chipping paint, at the lotions and perfumes that make up my mother's unidentifiable scent. Then I look at the bed. The sheets are messed up, the pillows tilted. The cat is sitting up, looking particularly perplexed
The bed's empty.

I'm on the computer, browsing the Internet for any signs of the apocalypse. Everything looks normal except that the chat box in the lower righthand corner tells me 0 people are online. Nothing on Yahoo except sports stories and pictures of celebrities, every article out of date. No news that the world is asleep and gone. It doesn't make sense to me, no matter how I spin it, that society could possibly overlook something so extraordinary as mass disappearances. I wonder just how many of 'brothers and sisters' Flavius must have. I'd question the validity of what the man had said had I not seen the evidence first hand, had not felt the hollow pang of loss at the sight of my mother's vacant bedroom, already grown cold.
Half the world, that man had said. China has it lucky, I think bitterly, this hellish day has already come and gone for them.
I look at the time. 4:46 am. Only a few hours until sunrise. Leaning back in the desk chair, I hum tunelessly, uncomfortable in the heavy silence that has fallen all over my house. It's so damn cold, too, but the thermostat is in the hall, and I'm in safe in my chair. Another childish fancy: don't touch the floor. It'll burn you.
I still have time to kill myself, I think lazily, but the thought is like a joke. I even smile a little, and I open my iTunes library to play some music.
Putting the program on shuffle, I then ask the napping cat curled in a dirty white bundle on the sofa, "What's good end of the world music, Ellie?"
And then I'm crying again, sobbing uncontrollably and getting the keyboard all wet. I feel like I'm suffocating on my guilt.

It takes me a while to realize it's light outside again. The change was so gradual, I hadn't even noticed sunrise had come and gone. The cloudy weather didn't help in notifying me, but it doesn't make much of a difference. 
I yawn massively, click pause on the movie I had been watching with half a mind for the past hour. I stretch, and my bones pop. My stomach growls, but I'm too tired to worry about that at the moment. I think a nap would be a good idea now. The other survivors, they'd be sleeping, right? I nod to myself and slink to my room, eyelids drooping and feet leaden. Before I can even cross to my bed, a loud vibrating noise penetrates the morning quiet and causes my heart to thud painfully in my chest. I gasp and realize a beat late that it's my cell phone ringing. I stare at the buzzing object lying on my comforter as if it were a live snake curled atop the sheets.
"What the hell...?" I go to answer the phone, and look up to see sunlight trickling in from my windows, granting welcome color to my room, with its languid glow. 

"H-hello?"
A pause.
"Hey...it's Andi."

"Looking out the diamond-paned window on the other side of the small kitchen, I stare out into the gray blur of a snow flurry" Redundant - "Through the diamond-paned window across the kitchen, I stared into the gray..."

"outweighs possible hunger." nice. I like that he's not sure if he's hungry

"Flavius chuckles lightly if a bit uneasily, and I look at him ... " - "if a bit uneasily" is parenthetical, should be offset by two commas, hence "Flavius chuckles lightly, if a bit uneasily, and I look at him... "

"When he notices the stasis of my hostile expression..." "stasis" is an odd word choice I think. Sure your hostile expression isn't moving - but statis to me suggests a long period of inactivity. I'd go for something plainer: "When my hostile expression doesn't change, he continues..."

I'm getting the impression that Flavius is a very important character, and I think we need to see more than just his curls when your protagonist first sees him. I'm thinking of novels by people like King and Kellerman. The important characters are always described almost as a piece of delicate scenery. Maybe have your character gasp, and then behold this very detailed person. Really give the reader a picture of Flavius's character in description. Also, I like that he has a casual way of talking, which sets his voice apart from the protagonist's. In my opinion it would help if you concentrated a bit more on his voice, give him a bit more color...

Ugh, got to leave it there and sleep. Good beginning though. A compelling premise.

Hello there.

I don't know if you've got a lot of nitpicks to do, but I'm still going to quote it all so it's easier for you to correct. Comments are also going to be in there (bold).

Spoiler

TheAlphaBunny wrote:

Awake again at 6:40 on a Saturday. This is stupid, I think through the blur of fading dreams and grogginess. thoughts should be in italics. I check the alarm clock beside my bed a couple times, shivering as I have to reach out of the warm cocoon of my comforter in order to pull the clock close enough to see the numbers. My room is always cold, and this ungodly early hour on a Saturday in midwinter doesn't help. I clench my eyes tightly, knowing that sleep isn't really an option anymore. When I open them again, I feel a little more awake, senses sharpened by the dull pain of squeezing my eyelids together so hard. Closing your eyelids together hurts? Even if I do it pretty hard, it doesn't hurt... Maybe if you said something like: senses sharpened by the frigid air. Which would make a little more sense, in my opinion.
Hazy gray light creeps into my room through the slots of my white, wooden shutters, sucking the color from my bedroom's blue walls, hanging artwork, various knickknacks. It's probably snowing outside, I think, smiling softly to myself. I love this kind of weather.
Your transition is really awkward. I didn't even realize she was up and going before a while... Put some marker in there so we know it's not the from same part we are reading. Or you can always say she's getting up and sees her mother.

My mom leaves for a quick trip to the gym around 8:45.
"Sure you don't wanna go?" she asks, trying as she's lacing up her sneakers to persuade me to join her. I stare blankly at her, look down at my cut up t-shirt, pajama shorts--perfect public attire. I run a hand through my messy blonde hair, and casually say, "Yeah, mom, I'm not feelin' it."
She shakes her head at me but doesn't ask again. Quick kisses are exchanged, and then she's out the door and gone. I stand in the kitchen alone for a moment, the sound of my cat crunching her dry food beside the bar an awkward disturbance to the silence. Looking out the diamond-paned window on the other side of the small kitchen, I stare out into the gray blur of a snow flurry. Without glasses, I can't see much detail, only variances of light and shadow and the jostling of the branches of the trees by the wind.
I rock back and forth on my feet, trying to ward off frostbite, but after deciding standing here in the cold won't make the tile any less frigid, I retreat. I walk back toward my bedroom, feeling a little nauseated for some reason. Maybe an empty stomach, I think, but my desire for warmth outweighs possible hunger.
Down the short hall, past my bathroom, the spare bedroom, approaching my mother's room, then I turn right. This sentence is a little bit confusing. I'm looking into my room, and an inexplicable anxiety washes over me. I can feel the color drain from my face, my stomach flip, and I fear for a second that I'm going to vomit all over my beige carpet, but that sensation passes. Suddenly I'm aware that I'm not the only one in the room.

"I'm Flavius," the man says, his golden curls shaking as he reaches out from his seat at my desk to offer his hand. I stare at it, at him, at the hand again. I swallow hard.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" I rush out, glaring at him from the other side of my bed. I figure if he turns out to be some sort of psychopath/serial rapist, then my bed could serve as a hindrance in snatching me. The thought crosses my mind that I really should've gone to the gym with my mom, and I close my eyes momentarily, allowing the pointless regret to ebb and flow.
Flavius chuckles lightly if a bit uneasily, and I look at him again to see him rubbing the back of his head. "Well, honey, who I am is not as important as why I'm here."
When he notices the stasis of my hostile expression, he continues: "I'm here to give a warning. My brothers and sisters, we're goin' 'round, giving the heads up to the young and promising people of this generation. It's the least we can do, really."
"Warning for what?" I ask hesitantly. I hear my blood rushing in my ears and my mouth goes dry. I want to go back to sleep, pretend that this is some sort of dream...and I haven't even heard the worst of the news.
Flavius flashes an ironic smile and says, "The apocalypse, my dear."
Again, transition seems odd.

It's only 9:20, yet I feel as if I've been sitting here at my desk for hours, staring blindly at my crowded bulletin board on the wall cluttered with cut out fragments of my life and interests. Flavius has been gone not ten minutes, but when I had sat in my rickety desk chair, I remember the seat being cold. He never did tell me who he was--or how he got into my house for that matter--and when he had finished delivering his doomsday message, he had stood up, situated a black hat atop his bright hair, straightened his necktie, and left, walking out my front door as if he had lived here his whole life.
I wipe at my eyes and find tears there again, for thinking about Flavius makes me feel unreachably sad for some reason, and not just because of his dark words.
I turn the phrase over in my head a few times, like the careful observation of a glass marble, over and around in my mind as if in hands, looking into the words for meaning. "Young and promising." Sure, I had the "young" going for me, but as for the latter part, the intruder hadn't bothered to elaborate. Focusing on the collage of tacked-up magazine clippings, postcards, trinkets before me, I felt an aching in my temples. What could I possibly have to offer a dead world?

"They're all dying in their sleep. On then other side of the planet, half the human race is gone, and no one even knows. It's more humane, I think, than fire raining from the sky, flash floods, tsunamis--" he laughs "--a plague of locusts.
"Just one day, you know. No matter the hour, on this date, those who sleep never awake. It's simple, painless. And when they die, they disappear. We don't want a bunch of decaying humans lying around for our chosen ones to deal with. Trust me, you'll have enough problems in the aftermath without nearly seven billion dead bodies."
"I'm not a religious person."
"Hm?"
"I'm not religious. I don't...I don't believe in God. Not like people around here do, anyways. I'm not going to be some sort of wayward disciple if this is what you're signing me up for."
Flavius' shining smile doesn't waver, and it dawns on me that the suited young man before me isn't anywhere near human; a human being couldn't dole out instructions for the end of the world and keep smiling. "Of course not," he says. "No one expects you to 'spread the message' or whatever. Besides, this isn't about you. Not really. This is about your generation, and the chosen few from that, getting a fresh start.
"You know, in China right now, they're already working to operate electric generators and shut down those they don't need. Those clever devils had the foresight to warn only those who knew how to work those great generators so they wouldn't face meltdowns and blackouts.
"You think they warned anyone who didn't serve a particular purpose crucial to survival? No, not at all. This is survival of the knowledgeable. The weakest are those who can't make up their minds. I won't keep you from telling others, but you may be surprised who will listen and who won't.
"Anyways, before sunrise tomorrow, don't sleep a wink, and don't think you can get by with just a little nap or a doze. You'll be out and gone before you realize it."
"What comes after that?"
Flavius' wolfish grin finally wavers. "That's for the dead to know."

I'm crying now, not just tearing up. My shoulders shake, and my breathing is irregular, and my face stings from the tracks of heavy tears. I feel my lips pull into a grimace, and as I try in vain to suppress these weak emotions, I only choke and hiccup like a child. I don't bother to wipe at the deluge pouring from my eyes, numbly watching the salty droplets as they drip off my nose and cheeks onto the pristine, white surface of my desk. My nails dig into my scalp as I sob, and corrosive panic begins to well up inside me. I have no clue what to do now, where to go, whom to tell. I only know that I don't want to be alone. I like this part. It makes her look more real, since being alone is one of the things that scare most people.
Behind me, I hear a dainty mew, and I look over my shoulder to see my cat sitting on my bed, licking her back paw in a contortionist's position.
I twist around in my seat to pet her little gray head, and she answers with an odd cooing noise signifying annoyance. I'm still whimpering stupidly, but her presence is comforting. I take in great gulps of air, trying to fill my lungs until they'll burst. I imagine for a moment that they really would burst if I breathed deeply enough. I'd implode. I'd cave in like a popped balloon, the life and oxygen rushing out of me at once. Maybe it would hurt. Maybe I would only feel the initial jolt of the rupture and then I'd be gone. Poof. A soap bubble.
I rest my forehead on the cool surface of my desk, and sigh as the tears finally stop. Now I just feel drained, wrung dry, pathetic. I want to sleep.

"Well, you have the whole day to decide your plan of action. Nightfall is when you need to start worrying. I'd suggest, decide whom you think would be worth saving. If you have friends that might not have been warned, but you think they could be useful in the future, I'd contact them soon. You don't wanna spring this sort of thing on teenagers and expect them to comply."
"Like what you're doing to me?" I'm staring at my toes. I need to repaint my nails, for the sparkly pink polish is chipping a lot. Homeless toes, I think dryly.
"Heh, yes, but you believe me, don't you? Otherwise you would've told me to leave by now or call the cops. Trust me, I've had that happen countless times today. But that's not my business. It's their death, not mine. You're a smart one, though. I think you'll be able to make it through this if you'll just get past your concern for everyone else."
"You're asking me to let the people I love die?" The words sound strange and hollow coming from my mouth, like the lines of some tragic heroine in a movie at the climax of the plot. I feel I can relate. It seems that from here on, everything else will just be falling action.
"I'm asking you to be a little selfish. Don't go out of your way to convince people that don't want to listen, and don't try to save every damn person you know. Allowing those like you to choose companions for after the apocalypse is just a way of gaining some trust from you. Enough members of both sexes have been chosen for re-population, and proximity to other future survivors was also taken into account. You won't be alone. Just...a little thinned out.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm just being honest with you. Would you rather me lie and say that everything is going to be ok?"
Transition? I see this part was a kind of flashback? She remembers Flavius words. Make it clear.

I hear the front door open, and I'm standing at my bathroom sink, brushing my teeth. It's 9:50. There's still a lot of day left, but my mother is scheduled to work tonight at the surgical hospital. She'll be taking a nap this afternoon to rest up before the twelve hour shift. I have until 1:00 to decide what to do about that.
The floorboards in the hallway creak as she passes the bathroom to go to her room, and I wipe excess toothpaste from the corner of my mouth. My eyes still look a little red from my moment earlier, but it isn't too noticeable. I'll just finish getting ready for the day, I'll make some phone calls, and I'll go to the nearby coffee shop. I need out of the house, and I need to see my friends. I can't tell if this is me holding onto the remaining threads of normal life in a sorry attempt to stitch together a replacement for tomorrow or if I'm just running away.

"I should probably leave you to yourself now," Flavius says, his glow and voice subdued. "I know that this is a lot to take in all at once, but please don't...do something stupid. You were chosen for a reason, and we trust you to make the right choices for yourself. Besides, you have all day to let it soak in." He's standing now, putting his hat back on. His dark eyes glint as he shoots me an unnerving wink. "Don't dwell on it too much, kid. All you've gotta do is pull an all-nighter, right?" He straightens his black necktie. He's gone.
Cue breakdown.
Again...

11:15 and I'm ready to crawl out of my skin. I feel like ants are marching under my pallid flesh. I'm sitting at my desk again, a blank sheet of paper and pens before me lined up in a pretty little line. I thought a creative outlet might help, but I'm finding it difficult to think straight, let alone draw, and every time I reach for a pen, the trembling in my hands shoves my swiftly into motionlessness again.
I juggled the idea of texting a couple close friends to meet me somewhere, provide a distraction. But that thought just made me question whom I would contact, for what reason, and the idea of sending a text message to talk to someone that could very well be dead and gone tomorrow morning seemed particularly disturbing.
Time for a couple phone calls.

"Hello?"
"Hey, Andi!" I'm trying too hard to sound chipper. Chill out.
"Hey. What's up?"
"I was just going to go to Hastings for some coffee, so I figured I'd call you and Claire. You wanna meet me over there in a minute?" Better.
"Um, yeah, lemme see if I can."
"Are you busy?" Don't let her hear the panic.
"Pre-calc homework."
"Ah."
While she's gone, I find myself worrying my thumb nail between my front teeth. I never bite my nails.
"Ok, I can go. See you in a minute?"
"Yeah, I'm on my way! I'll call Claire." One down.
"Ok. Bye."
"Bye."
I stare at my phone for a second, and for a moment I can't remember where I am. I hiss through my teeth and rub my eyes with my knuckles, leaving me momentarily seeing stars. I wonder vaguely why I'm so affected by Flavius' visit. Surely this isn't happening. It's a joke. The bastard broke into my home while I was...in the kitchen and...and he was just waiting in my room to...freak me out. Yes. He broke into my home to...
"Dammit," I mutter.
I open my contacts, press Claire's number, hold the phone to my ear. As it rings, I count my breaths.

"Claire not coming?" Andi asks as I move up to order my coffee. She stands with her arms folded, an impassive expression on her face. I force myself to pay attention to the barista while really terrible thoughts crowd about inside my skull. My twisted brain keeps conjuring images of bloated corpses and gaping holes in walls, splintered supports protruding like crooked teeth. It's exaggerated, I know, but despite my morbid fantasies, I cant shake the thought running on loop inside my head.
These people have no idea what's happening.
"No, she said she can't make it," I answer Andi after I finish ordering. House coffee, black. "Well, she said she'd try. You know how that is."
Andi smirks and nods, moves up to order in turn, pushing back a curl of dark blond hair behind her ear. I walk away and choose a seat in the back corner of the small space, sit down in a green suede armchair. This is such a familiar scene and situation that I suddenly feel like an intruder.
When Andi joins me, I see she has both of our drinks, and I realize I must have spaced out.
"Is something wrong?" she asks, sitting across from me and crossing her legs. She hands me my coffee, and the warmth from the disposable cup is slightly painful. I hadn't realized just how cold my hands were. For a second, no longer, I entertain the idea of spilling everything that happened this morning, but then my friend catches my gaze. Swallowing hard, I glance past my friend, out the window at the snow before I answer, "Will you call Claire? Tell her she needs to be here now. It's an emergency."
"Why--"
"Fine, I'll do it."
I'm reaching for my phone when she stops me. "No, I've got it," she says warily. "Really, what's going on?" I look up into my her face. We made it this far together. From seventh to eleventh grade, we've remained friends, close except for a couple rough patches. We're stupid together, we do silly things that kids our age would probably mock. We'll be young and idiotic forever, I think.
"I'll tell you both when she gets here," I say, falling silent.

When I walk into my house, I have to knock the toes of my boots against the threshold of the door to dislodge the snow. While at the coffee shop, the flurry picked up, dusting everything in a powdery layer of fine ice. It had gotten colder, and the temperature inside our house remained at a toasty 68 degrees Fahrenheit. I shiver, trudge down the hall with squeaking boots. I had seen my mom sitting on the couch, cat resting in her lap. I figured animals were exceptions to the sleeping death, but I couldn't help but freak out momentarily. I don't bother to untie my laces, and removing my jacket, I sit right on the floor, still reeling.
They didn't believe me.

I consider taking a nap. I really think about it. My bed is still unmade and looks quite inviting. It would be so simple to crawl under the covers. I'd just wait for my mom to lie down, too, in case the disappearance thing happens instantly. I don't want her to worry.
That's when I realize I've made the decision without even thinking. I'm just going to let her go. My own mother...
I bite my bottom lip and ignore the prickling in my eyes and the bridge of my nose. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should tell her. And then I think about my other family members, about all the people I could've told but didn't. About the friends I had hoped would listen to me but didn't.
Then an unfamiliar relief washes over me. It isn't my problem, I realize. This is the end. Someone has to die.

I stand up off the floor and walk to the living room. Mom is still sitting with the cat, watching television. I toe over to her side and sit on the ugly green carpet beside the couch and bother the cat. She glares at me from big blue eyes, and I stick my tongue out at her.
"How was Andi? Did Claire end up going?"
"Yeah, they were both good. We just kinda sat around and chatted."
"Did you not want to hang around with them a little longer? I'm going to go lay down in a minute. I don't want you to be bored."
"Naw, I'll be fine. I have some Pre-calculus homework to take care of besides."
We sit like that a little longer, then she starts to get up, handing the cat to me so she can stand. I take her place on the couch, and it's warm and indented from people sitting in that one spot so much. The cat's not pleased, so she leaves to go eat or something.
"Well, I'll be up in a little bit. If you want to go do something, just leave me a note, ok?"
She gives me a kiss, and I say I will and that I love her.
I remember when I was little, six or so, and she was still a waitress at this Mexican food restaurant. She had to work late shifts a lot, so I would stay with my grandparents. It devastated me to see her leave, and I would cry and hug her legs at first, then when it got easier I would just stand in the entryway and watch her go. But I always made sure, no matter what was being said before that my last words to here were, "I love you." It was a morbid thought as a little girl, but I feared that every time she left could be the last time I saw my mom. I wanted her to know I loved her no matter what happened. I got older, and those dark thoughts lost some of their seriousness.
But now, I think that had been a smart practice.

I managed to draw something, a girl with a large bird in her arms. One of her eyes is missing, the organ hanging from the beak of the bird. She doesn't appear too phased by this fact, and I envy her stoicism. It's 2:30, and I've forced myself to stay in my room all this time, doing homework, making my bed, sketching, anything to occupy the time. I figure I'll go get another cup of coffee in a couple hours. It's gonna be a long night.
I figure now is as good a time as any to face my darkest fear, so I push my drawing utensils aside.
I'm standing at the closed door of my mother's room. I press my hand against the cool white surface, push.
I look into the calming light blue room, at the picture I painted for her on Mother's Day hanging on the far wall, at the white vanity with the quaintly chipping paint, at the lotions and perfumes that make up my mother's unidentifiable scent. Then I look at the bed. The sheets are messed up, the pillows tilted. The cat is sitting up, looking particularly perplexed
The bed's empty.

I'm on the computer, browsing the Internet for any signs of the apocalypse. Everything looks normal except that the chat box in the lower right-hand corner tells me 0 people are online. Nothing on Yahoo except sports stories and pictures of celebrities. No news that the world is asleep and gone. It doesn't make sense to me, no matter how I spin it, that society could possibly overlook something so extraordinary as mass disappearances. I'd question the validity of what Flavius had said had I not seen the evidence first hand. Half the world, that man had said. China has it lucky; this hellish day has already come and gone for them.
I look at the time. 4:46. Only a few hours until sunrise. Leaning back in the desk chair, I hum tunelessly, uncomfortable in the heavy silence that has fallen all over my house. It's so damn cold, too, but the thermostat is in the hall, and I'm in safe in my chair. Another childish fancy: don't touch the floor. It'll burn you.
I still have time to kill myself, I think lazily, but the thought is like a joke. I even smile a little, and I open my iTunes library to play some music.
I put it on shuffle, then ask the cat napping, curled in a dirty white bundle on the sofa, "What's good end of the world music, Ellie?"
And then I'm crying again, sobbing uncontrollably and getting the keyboard all wet. I feel like I'm suffocating.

It takes me a while to realize it's light outside again. The change was so gradual, I hadn't even noticed sunrise had come and gone. The cloudy weather didn't help in notifying me, but it doesn't make much of a difference.
I yawn massively, click pause on the movie I had been watching with half a mind for the past hour. I stretch, and my bones pop. My stomach growls, but I'm too tired to worry about that at the moment. I think a nap would be a good idea now. The other survivors, they'd be sleeping, right? I nod to myself and slink to my room, eyelids drooping and feet leaden. Before I can even cross to my bed, a loud vibrating noise penetrates the morning quiet and causes my heart to thud painfully in my chest. I gasp and realize a beat late that it's my cell phone ringing. I stare at the buzzing object lying on my comforter as if it were a live snake curled atop the sheets.
"What the hell...?" I go to answer the phone, and look up to see sunlight trickling in from my windows, granting welcome color to my room, with its languid glow.

"H-hello?"
A pause.
"Hey, it's Andi."

I liked the story, it was interesting, and the ending was good. I also liked the format of your story. The hours was good, since it helped us feel a little bit for her, and it gave us the sense that time was passing so fast, which was probably how the MC was feeling too.
The conversation between Falvius and the MC was a good idea too, the way you've separated it and all. But the transitions were bad, and we didn't really know when it was past, and when it was present. So maybe put up a marker like ** or something would help.

Keep writing!

-Other One

trying as she's lacing up her sneakers to persuade me to join her

I don't really understand this sentence.

It isn't my problem, I realize. This is the end. Someone has to die.

This sort of makes me dislike her character. I mean, yeah the decision is hard but to not help your own family members because she's too scared of what they'll say? I was hoping to get more of her compassion.

Another childish fancy: don't touch the floor. It'll burn you.

This made me remember a time when I was quite young and I would pretend that the floor was lava and jump around my living room pretending I was some sort of person with super powers who was out to save someone from a volcanic eruption. xD Ah, good times. :3

----

Alright, those were just a few nitpicks that I had with the piece. They weren’t much at all but whatever. Okay, so let’s start with my overall thoughts about this piece in general.

With the opener, I thought it was quite good. It was slow and I think it was a bit of a normal openers. Girl getting out bed and starting her day. I would say to try something a bit different – something with a little more taste but you don’t have to do that because of the whole plot of the story. It actually becomes important to start this off with the ringing of an alarm clock.

One thing that I do want to compliment you on though is your descriptions. They were very well done and easy to read. They were smooth and I liked how you didn’t use big words or anything to clog up your writing. However, there were times where I felt like you described unnecessary things like feet moving across the hall or something like that. At times I felt like you were describing a little too much and I got slightly annoyed so I skipped ahead a few sentences. So this is just a warning, be careful not to state every detail. I did that once and it made the writing feel too slow and readers will skip ahead then or might even stop reading. However, it’s a personal taste. Some people actually like knowing every detail of everything so take this with a pinch of salt.

Now, let’s talk about your characters. Flavius seems like an important character here. He comes into her home, he tells her that the world is ending and she believes him. So, exactly what is it about him that makes her believe his words? He basically appears out of nowhere and says, “Yo, the world is ending so do what you gotta do,” and then leaves. But that’s all we get. I think you should take some time to build up his character a bit so we feel like he’s someone to believe/trust. Right now if I was in that situation, I would just call the police and tell them a crazy man who thinks dooms day has arrived just broke into my house.


If we talk about our MC, whose name I don’t even know – did you mention it? Cause I can’t remember if you did or not and I think you should, lol. Okay, our MC has just a bit of a personality but it’s nothing much. We can’t really connect with her for some reason. I feel like there’s a wall that’s stopping me from getting closer or understanding her thoughts. She feels a bit confusing so maybe take some time to flesh out her character too? I know that with short stories, it becomes harder to flesh out characters than it would be in a novel so you have to be careful with that and try some short, powerful sentences that will pierce into her head and have readers understand her way of life and thinking. If you can do this, I will bow to you. xD

As for the plot, I liked it. It was definitely different than what I’ve read before. Yes, I know stories have been made about the apocalypse before but yours had a bit of different feel to it. Maybe it’s the fact that everyone dies in their sleep or something but yes, I liked it. ^.^

Okay, there is just one thing I want to mention about the format though. Mostly it’s the part where Flavius and the MC are having the conversation about the end of the world. Now, I notice that you had him come, introduce himself and then leave and then you give us a glimpse of her emotions about his appearance then go back to the conversation. However, when doing this you use present tense and I think you should’ve used past tense during that bit. In fact, I’m not sure if I understood that part right anyway. It’s my two cents.

As for the ending, I’m a bit confused. So did everyone really die? Except for her friends because she told them? I think you could’ve gone an inch further to let us know. Just an inch, really. I think nothing happened though because if it did, Andi wouldn’t have said, “Hey, it’s Andi” she would’ve been like, “ZOMG, YOU WERE RIGHT!” D: No?

Overall, I enjoyed reading this, really. I liked how you made her go through her rounds and all show us a different take on the apocalypse. One thing I would’ve liked to see however was your MC making some or actually, showing us some appreciation of life and people. It’s the end of the world so what she’s going to appreciate? What is it about ‘now’ that she likes and will miss? Besides her mom, that is. Anyway, this was good – slightly slow but it’s still good. Thank you for the good read!

Let me know if you have any questions! ^___^
-Pink