As The World Goes Dark

In January 2051, the continental United States experienced an unprecedented wave of record-high temperatures. Instead of the anticipated winter rains, many states were engulfed in unseasonably warm weather, with temperatures soaring into the high 90s, often accompanied by a strange absence of the usual snowfall. As March and April unfolded, the heat intensified, thrusting temperatures into the triple digits, a staggering anomaly for early spring. However, when summer finally arrived, an unexpected cooling trend emerged, bringing temperatures back to more typical levels in the 80s and 90s, much to everyone's relief.

In July of 2051, Kentucky came alive with celebrations of freedom. Ironically, during this festive time, residents felt increasingly oppressed, as their day-to-day lives were marked by restrictions and limitations. The growing constraints prompted organizers to create even grander parades to distract from the underlying reality. One small town in Kentucky hosted its own lively festivities, culminating in a vibrant parade that showcased the community's spirit. Among the participants, the winner of the Miss Kentucky pageant was set to be the final highlight, riding in a pristine white convertible. Her tiara sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight, casting shimmering reflections as she gracefully waved to onlookers. The young woman, Rosealee Turner, had recently returned home after competing in the Miss Kentucky pageant, where she was crowned the winner. Perhaps it was the victory from the event that added an extra glow on her face on the parade day, but it looked as if the town's very joys encapsulated in her dimpled smiling face.

Following the parade, the town gathered for a potluck that celebrated every southern dish under the sun. Tables overflowed with delightful dishes, from steaming yellow buttered corn and crispy fried chicken to delectable freshly made banana pudding. As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue over the festivities, a stirring rendition of the national anthem resonated through the crowd, evoking feelings of pride and nostalgia, even as they grappled with their sense of confinement. Finally, as the evening drew to a close, families spread colorful blankets on the heat-scorched earth and gazed up at the sky, where fireworks erupted in a spectacular display of vibrant colors, illuminating their faces with awe as they celebrated being freed from the very people that enslaved them at this moment.

—

Aaron stared up at the ceiling of the government building, the only type of building he found himself in these days, the ceiling covered in elaborate gold tiles. Music gently played in one ear, some sort of Americana folk that always stayed on so that the room never got too quiet. The architecture was utterly mesmerizing. He would have taken a picture but he only had his phone, and it wouldn’t do it justice. Instead, he simply looked, capturing it in his mind’s eye.

Footsteps sounded down the hall, high-heeled ones by the sound of it. A woman in a black suit, with slicked-back hair, block heels, and a binder in hand, approached.

“Mr. Evans is waiting for you,” she stated, her tone brisk.

Aaron did not answer for a long moment. Finally, he turned his gaze from the ceiling and flashed her a smile. “He can wait,” he replied simply.

The woman raised her eyebrows, her shocked expression trying to convey the urgency of the situation. “It’s not just him. The president and his wife, the press—everyone is waiting.”

“Alright,” Aaron sighed, “if I’m holding everyone up, then I suppose I should hurry.” He followed the woman from the room and down a hallway.

As they walked, she handed him a pin, a little flag of the United States. He held the cold metal in his hand for a moment before he pocketed the pin, tucking it away out of sight.

“You are supposed to wear it,” she informed him, her voice firm.

“I know,” Aaron shrugged.

They headed all the way outside until, with security clearance, they made it to the stage that Aaron had watched them set up an hour ago. Reporters’ cameras flashed widely, though they were barely noticeable in the sun other than the loud clicks that echoed around them. Aaron took a deep breath.

“Well, it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Aaron?” Davis asked, holding out his hand for Aaron to shake.

“Just peachy,” he replied, shaking Davis's hand while offering a simple smile for the cameras. He settled into his place on the stage, between a taller man on one side and a platinum blonde woman whose elaborately styled hair was topped with a plum hat on the other.

“An AirPod? Seriously, Aaron?” The man, Evans, scolded, reaching over to gently take the AirPod out of Aaron’s ear and slipping it into his own pocket. The sounds of the cameras and the birds outside, and the wind rustling in the bushes was further amplified.

“Sorry,” Aaron muttered, not sounding particularly apologetic.

“What were you listening to?” the other man inquired.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Aaron shot back, annoyance creeping into his tone.

“I texted you,” the tall man informed him, leaning in slightly to whisper.

“I saw,” Aaron replied, making it clear that he simply didn’t care.

“Are we fighting?” the man asked, arching an eyebrow, trying to gauge the mood between them.

“What kind of stupid question is that?” Aaron retorted, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Don’t be patronizing,” the man cautioned, his expression serious. “It’s the question I have to ask when you show up late to a national broadcast that you know is important to me.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Evans,” Aaron teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “I will try and do better for our country.” His comment elicited a slightly disgusted expression from the hatted woman who looked at him scandalized from the side of her eye, but drew a hearty laugh from the other man before he composed his features into a serious resolve.

“Ok, Ya’ll. We are going live in five. Four. Three, two, and one. Smiles, everyone!” announced a man from behind the camera. Everyone on stage flashed picture-perfect smiles, except for Aaron, who remained unbothered.

—

“Will you be making it to dinner or faking sick again?” Evans asked as he undid his tie and set it down on the table in the green room. He had also taken off his suit jacket from earlier and was now just in a white dress shirt.

“How dare you accuse me of such treasonous things?” Aaron gasped, scandalized as he lounged on a couch, his body stretched out, phone held above his face.

“You know I want you there,” Evans said while checking his own phone for messages in between changing his tie to a dark blue one.

“You look stupid in a tie,” Aaron replied, swiftly changing the conversation, clearly deciding they were done with this topic.

“Thanks, Aaron,” Evans said, rolling his eyes.

“No, I mean, I preferred when you just wore whatever you wanted. Because you worked at your own company, and we didn’t have to involve the rest of the country in this stupid campaign that you decided to get yourself involved in,” Aaron said, sitting up and finally turning to face him.

“I know what you meant by it,” Evans said as he glanced down at his phone on the table.

“Will another apology make you feel better?” Evans asked, mostly teasing since he knew Aaron was mad at him.

“Shut up, Clyde,” Aaron muttered, but he laughed a little at the joke, the more familiar name escaping his lips.

“I didn’t actually think you would win,” Aaron admitted as he walked over to the window and peered out to look at the approaching SUVs full of people.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Clyde scoffed as he walked over to the window as well.

“Go to your silly parade,” Aaron said dismissively. Clyde reached out to hug Aaron from behind, resting his head on his shoulder like he was used to doing.

“Don’t touch me,” Aaron said, frowning, not a fan of his space getting encroached upon when he was angry.

“Okay,” Clyde said, clearly resolved not to mess with Aaron’s foul mood. “You enjoy your shit attitude,” he added as he walked towards the door.

“Can you send me a car so I can go see my mother?” Aaron asked. “If this country even allows it anymore,” he muttered under his breath, but still loud enough for Clyde to hear.

“Yeah, of course,” Clyde nodded as he put his suit jacket back on and buttoned it up. The lines of his posture hardened, and he shifted back into the business man. He picked up his phone checking notifications..

“No secret service,” Aaron added quickly. Clyde groaned in response.

“You know I can’t do that,” he said, frowning, not wanting to disappoint. Taking matters into his own hands, Aaron stormed over to Clyde, digging into his suit jacket pocket and pulling out the keys. Clyde didn’t stop him; he couldn’t if he tried.

“They will still follow you,” he informed Aaron, but Aaron ignored this comment.

“Don’t crash my car,” Clyde warned as Aaron brushed past him.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Evans, you can just buy another one if I do,” Aaron teased as he headed towards the door but then doubled back to reach into Clyde’s left pocket for his AirPod. Instead, he found both the AirPod and the case.

“You found my case,” Aaron stated. Aaron squinted at the case. It was warm from being in Clyde’s pocket. He realized then that Clyde hadn't just stumbled upon them, he had probably looked for them.

“I did,” Clyde replied. Aaron took anyway and pocketed them, then lingered in front of Clyde for a second, awkwardly not sure what he was doing.

“You're welcome,” whispered Clyde, breaking the trance.

“Yeah, thanks,” nodded Aaron as he headed back towards the door.

“Drive safe,” Clyde shouted as Aaron left the room.

—

“How is your idiot husband?” Aaron’s mom asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she sat across from Aaron on the patio, sipping her ice tea. His mother was usually a fan of a hotter version of tea, but the stifling head and the weather was not good for it.

“First of all, he is not my husband, and you know this,” Aaron replied, his tone a mix of annoyance and humor. “He is fine; he is at a dinner I don’t want to be at right now.”

“Your stupid partner, is that better?” she suggested, arching an eyebrow.

“Much,” he smiled, a little more relaxed.

“Did you eat?” she asked, her motherly concern evident as she put her cup down.

“Yeah, a little,” Aaron shrugged, trying to minimize the worry in her eyes. She frowned at this but chose not to press further.

“You didn’t think he would win, did you?” she asked, studying him closely. Aaron shook his head, the frustration evident.

“Well, money has no limits on one’s success. What does this mean for your life?” she pressed, hoping to get through to him in any way.

Aaron sighed heavily. “I don’t know; I don’t care. I don’t want to think about it,” he admitted, looking away.

She nodded, accepting his words but clearly still concerned. “You’re comfortable,” she stated, her tone firm.

“Hm?” Aaron asked, confusion creasing his brow.

“Not having to think about it, not considering the effect of this brand-new regime,” she said, her voice steady.

“This is not a regime!” Aaron scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“They all are; you’re just unable to see it this time,” she replied, her gaze unwavering as she confronted him.

“I know Clyde is not perfect, and Davis as the president isn’t by any means, but they aren’t going to do worse,” Aaron defended, crossing his arms.

“He seized government control in a currency-invest coup. The votes might have been there, but Clyde bought them all,” she said sharply, refusing to back down.

Aaron sighed again, feeling the weight of her words. “So what if he did?” he countered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Aaron, my love, you are not going to be able to change him,” she stated plainly, cutting through any illusions he might hold. “I watched the broadcast last month. Tell me who they congratulated first before that petty excuse of a man you call president. Tell me whose face was grinning the widest.”

“Clyde’s,” Aaron admitted reluctantly, knowing she was right. He didn’t like it, but it was the truth.

“Exactly,” she said, her expression serious. “Make no mistake; these are the actions of a winner. He has the money, he has the power—don’t be fooled. A title doesn’t do much if anything anymore”

Before he could respond to this, Aaron’s phone pinged with a notification, and then another, and another. He glanced down, and sighed.

“Mama, I have to go,” he said frantically, pushing himself up from his seat.

“Then go,” she replied softly, smiling painfully back at him, her heart heavy with concern as she watched him rush off.

—

Aaron called Clyde on his way home, the urgency in his voice clear as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “What is happening?” he asked, his tone frantic, the tension palpable.

Clyde paused for a moment, as if weighing his response. “You have seen the news?” he asked, his voice steady, though Aaron could sense the underlying tension.

“Yes, I want to know what is really happening, not tabloid nonsense,” insisted Aaron, his frustration mounting.

Clyde sighed, an air of resignation in his voice. “I can’t tell you until you are here,” he stated very matter-of-factly, though Aaron felt an unease creeping in.

“Clyde!” Aaron warned, his voice turning threatening, laced with the urgency of impending disaster.

“There is a disease,” Clyde finally admitted, his tone now more serious, almost grim.

“I know that, like what? How bad?” Aaron pressed, his heart racing as he anticipated the worst.

“Bad, the first cases of outbreak were reported in a small rural town in Kentucky, the town is not the origin of case zero however, they think it might have come back from out of the candidates for Miss America,” Clyde conceded, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Kentucky?” repeated Aaron confused, as he shook his head. “What is it like? The flu?” he asked urgently.

“Over 80% of the people in that town are dead, Aaron. Young, old, healthy, unhealthy, smokers and non smokers. It has the potential to be worse than Covid,” Clyde replied, his voice steady but revealing a hint of anxiety. “Davis is freaking out; he has had half a bottle of whiskey. This is not what he wanted to have starting out his term,” he admitted, a touch of disbelief creeping into his tone.

“You sound calm,” Aaron noted, surprised at Clyde's composure amid such chaos.

“I am, for now. All that it is, is reported irrationally freaking out. Most of them weren't vaccinated against anything, by choice, that might be part of it.” Clyde said, trying to reassure him, though Aaron sensed the edge of caution in his words. “In the morning, I am taking a jet to China. We have to meet with all the other countries to strategize,” he explained, the gravity of his mission evident.

“Why can’t Davis go?” Aaron shot back, his annoyance evident as he felt the weight of responsibility pressing down.

“He is going too,” Clyde added.

“Why are you going?” Aaron pressed, skepticism coloring his tone. Clyde chuckled lightly despite the situation, a brief moment of levity.

“Because I don’t really trust Davis, and he is startlingly incompetent,” he admitted, his laughter fading into seriousness.

“Oh,” said Aaron, his mind racing with the implications. And you aren’t, he thought, but kept to himself.

“Oh?” Clyde repeated, his voice laced with curiosity, wondering what Aaron meant by that.

“Are we going to be ok?” Aaron asked bluntly, the weight of uncertainty looming over both of them.

“Most likely,” Clyde admitted, the gravity of his words hanging heavily in the air, leaving Aaron with a sense of dread about what lay ahead.

—

-6 Months later

Aaron lay in bed, staring dazedly up at the whitewashed ceiling. The room was lit only by the TV, which seemed to stay on consistently now, colors flashing as scenes changed and casting flickering lights on the walls. The news played—a 24-hour news station with far too little to report and most of it just being verbal regurgitation of actual news. But the news stayed on, because in its absence was the thought, and thinking was far worse than the noise.

Aaron wore one of the white campaign t-shirts he had more than likely made fun of a few months back, but a box of them lay around, so he grabbed one. His phone lay forgotten at his side, although text messages lit up the screen every few seconds for the last few minutes. Suddenly, the sound of an incoming call rang on his phone, and this time he actually bothered to pick it up.

“Where are you?” Aaron asked, not bothering to check who it was, because he knew the only person calling him at 1:00 in the morning had to be Clyde, or the only person who would have the audacity to call would be him.

“Almost home,” answered Clyde, his voice slightly muffled, he must have had his headphones on.

“Oh,” said Aaron, surprised. He had lost count of the days between when he should be home and when he wasn't. There were so many trips and so many things to be done. Aside from managing a whole company which was still in the process of expanding, there was the issue of the whole country and the disease, which wasn’t his job, but Aaron knew if he didn’t do something, they would be in much hotter water than he wanted to be in.

“How close are you?” Aaron asked, even as he heard a car door slam in the background.

“Like, I’m walking in the front door right now,” replied Clyde.

Aaron heard footsteps approaching but didn’t bother to get up and say hello. It took a moment for Clyde to enter the room; he was most likely putting up his stuff.

“I like the t-shirt,” Clyde noted as he entered the room, lying down beside Aaron on the bed without bothering to get under the covers.

“It’s a shame your name isn’t on it,” Aaron replied, an eyebrow raised.

Clyde rolled his eyes at the comment. He reached over to the bedside table and shut off the TV, leaving the room shockingly quiet.

“You know, watching that stuff does not help with your depression,” Clyde remarked, concern lacing his tone.

“How was your meeting?” Aaron asked, shifting slightly to face him.

“Fine, I guess, so far as we all got along,” Clyde responded, his voice growing more animated. “Nothing came to fruition, though. There was a failed vaccine trial. Way too much arguing and bickering, and Davis didn’t even bother to show up. I have a meeting with him in the morning.”

“About what?” Aaron asked, curious.

“The same things. The same argument,” Clyde said, shrugging. “But there is hope,” he added, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his words.

“What kind?” Aaron pressed, intrigued.

“I don’t know,” Clyde admitted, his tone deflating slightly. “But still, hope,” he said, offering a small smile.

—

The car inched its way through the congested streets, navigating the maze of honking horns and frustrated drivers, stopping and starting every minute. Evan’s, dressed in a tailored suit that fit him perfectly, occupied the front passenger seat, his attention divided between his phone and the chaotic world outside. On the radio, a news broadcast flickered to life, its authoritative voice discussing the state of the nation.

“...civil unrest is beginning to stir across the country following the inauguration of the new president. Is he truly equipped for the monumental challenges ahead? Will he fulfill the promises made during his campaign, or will he lead the nation into further turmoil? Perhaps our focus should shift away from the president to…” Suddenly, Anna, Evans’ personal assistant, reached over and silenced the broadcast, an exasperated look crossing her face.

“Please reply to his texts,” she urged, gesturing at the barrage of incoming messages that had been flooding his phone for the past hour. With a resigned sigh, Evans rolled his eyes and typed a terse response—a simple "On the way" along with an apology for his tardiness. Just as he hit send, another text notification appeared, this one from Aaron.

“How is he?” Anna asked, her voice laced with concern.

“He is Fine,” Evans replied pointedly, though the word felt hollow as he drafted a response, hesitated, and ultimately laid his phone face down in his lap to avoid further distractions. He didn’t really have the energy to go into the complexities of their relationship alongside the world falling apart, and he definitely wasn't going to talk about it with his personal assistant. Although she did have an NDA so he could talk to her, he didn’t want to. The remainder of the car ride passed in silence, the tension hanging in the air until they finally reached the imposing Capitol building. This towering structure, which now dominated the skyline, had replaced the once-hallowed White House, a symbol of power that had long been demolished. It represented a new era of propaganda, starkly highlighting the government’s campaign against advertisements. As they stepped out, they noted the few dedicated protesters gathered outside, their signs waving in the wind.

With little fanfare, they made their way inside and took the elevator, which ascended at a brisk pace to the 50th floor. While it was not the highest floor in the building, the new president found a certain irony in choosing the 50th as his main office, a statement that seemed to echo throughout the structure. Evans, however, felt no humor in it.

“The president is ready to see you,” Maria, the secretary, informed him with a professional nod. Evans expressed his gratitude and stepped into the office, immediately struck by its stark, minimalist design. The space was sharply modern, defined by geometric lines and a muted color palette. A large, gleaming desk dominated the room, paired with two sleek chairs positioned for visitors. On one wall hung a gaudy, gold-framed painting that seemed to clash with the otherwise austere decor.

“President Davis, should I bow?” Evans quipped, trying to break the ice with a touch of humor before sitting down.

“You’re an old friend. I only make the commoners do that,” Davis joked, rising from his seat and moving around the desk to greet Evans. They exchanged a firm handshake that quickly turned into a warm embrace.

“And as happy as I am for you and your success, that is not what I came to talk about, as you already know,” said Evans, transitioning the conversation.

“This virus is starting to ravage every corner of the globe, and just yesterday, we received reports of the first fatalities in Australia,” Davis sighed heavily, lifting a crumpled piece of paper from his cluttered desk decorated with various files and empty coffee cups.

“God damn it,” sighed Evans. “And the solution?” asked Evans cause he always knew there was a solution.

“One you won’t like,” said Davis.

“I talked to Kersh, Petrov, and Smith,” started Davis in reference to the Indian, Russian, and Australia leaders.

“And,” prompted Evans. Davis sighed and looked at Evans not needing to say the words because he already knew. They were older, they had already lived through at least one if not two of these already. The hunger and the violence and the inevitable war that was caused from the scarcity of everything.

“They…are going the nuclear route,” said Evans mostly for confirmation. Davis nodded.

—

Clyde hadn’t said anything when he got home. Instead, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat at the head of the long table alone. After some time, Aaron walked into the dining room, pulled up a chair, and sat down next to him.

“What happened?” Aaron asked, leaning in with concern. Clyde shook his head, defeated. His eyes were red; he had been crying.

“You never cry,” Aaron stated gently as he wiped away a tear from Clyde’s cheek.

“I think this is worth my sorrow,” Clyde muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Aaron let out a small, shaky laugh—not at the melancholy of it, but at the poetic tone Clyde always adopted when he felt particularly down.

“Seriously, what’s wrong, Emily Dickinson?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood, fondly referring to the only poet he could think of at that moment.

“We are all going to die,” Clyde stated matter-of-factly, his gaze fixed on the table.

“Yes, eventually,” Aaron replied, trying to remain calm.

“No,” Clyde corrected him firmly. “Monday, the 14th of August.”

Aaron's brow furrowed in confusion. “What? Clyde, what does that mean?” he pressed, anxiety creeping into his voice. A sickening smile of exhaustion twisted its way onto Clyde’s face.

“The weak men of the political world have given up the fight, they don’t have the money or the resources or the time to save them” Clyde stated ominously. “There will be no vaccine, there will be no cure, there will be no bright days in the sunshine.”

Clyde continued, his voice lowering. “There will be one final bright day, and the brightness will be that of a bomb—a silence before a deafening flash, and then we will all die.”

“Nuclear warfare?” Aaron asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“No, nuclear submission. They all agreed to do it,” Clyde said, shaking his head with sorrow. Aaron froze, now fully aware of the gravity of the situation.

“No!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. Clyde shook his head sadly.

“You have to do something,” Aaron declared, his tone shifting to one of urgency.

“I can’t; I have no real power,” Clyde argued, looking down into his glass.

“No real power?” Aaron scoffed, raising his eyebrows.

“I am no president, no prime minister, no king,” Clyde replied, frustration creeping into his voice.

“How did Davis win?” Aaron asked, trying to lead him toward a revelation.

“Votes,” Clyde replied simply.

Aaron shook his head vigorously. “No. How did he get those votes? How?” he pressed, leaning closer.

“The campaign,” Clyde said, his answer coming far too slowly. Aaron could see he was still missing the critical point.

“The campaign that you paid for! You did that! He would have lost without you!” Aaron insisted, leaning forward in his chair.

Clyde shook his head again, feeling overwhelmed. “What are you suggesting I do? We have weeks— I can’t do anything,” he said, his voice filled with despair.

“You can,” Aaron replied emphatically.

“What am I supposed to do, Aaron?” Clyde shouted, his emotions bubbling to the surface.

“Something, anything!” Aaron insisted desperately, his voice rasing to a shout. “Please.” he said, his voice deflated and soft.

“I won’t,” Clyde responded firmly, his voice resolute.

“Why?” Aaron pressed, eyes pleading.

“I have already done enough. I have meddled enough in political affairs,” Clyde replied, shaking his head with finality.

“You have the power to do something, Clyde. Look at me,” Aaron urged, desperation etched on his face. Clyde shook his head stubbornly.

Aaron grabbed the sides of Clyde’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze, his fingertips on Clyde’s temple.

“Andrew Clyde Evans. You built an empire out of nothing but sheer willpower, and your driveness to succeed. You looked at a broken world and you organized it and molded it into the most powerful company in the world. You did that, no one else. No one else. I didn't fall in love with the man who could buy anything; I fell in love with the man who told me he wanted to own everything so he could fix it for me. And I really need you to fix it. I don’t want a legacy of riches that no one will be around to see. I want to be able to look you in the eye twenty years from now and know that when the world called out for a miracle it did not know it needed, you were the one who answered. Ok?” said Aaron. Clyde nodded, the words clearly reaching something inside him. “It means nothing to be the richest man in a world that has fallen apart; but you could be the reason it remains intact.”

For a long, agonizing moment, Clyde didn't move. He just looked into Aaron's eyes, taking in a sharp deep breath. Aaron's hands left the sides of his face. He just stared at him determined, now Clyde couldn't look away.

“I can’t do it alone, Aaron. I just can’t,” he insisted, his voice trembling.

“You're not alone. You won’t be; you will have me,” Aaron insisted. “You will always have me,” he said.