When I woke that morning I thought it was the middle of the night. There was no sunlight shining through my window, nor even a single bird’s song to liven the air. Struggling with my twisted and tangled sheets, resistant yet to opening my sleep filled eyes, I hunted lazily for wherever I’d dropped my phone the night before. Suddenly razor sharp energy rips through my veins, adrenaline pumping in response to the sudden unexpected shrieking of my alarm.
In a panic, cursing and fumbling I killed the obnoxiously chirpy tune and squinting through the too bright light I read the numbers on the screen in bleary confusion. “What the hell,” I wonder aloud lifting myself into an upright position I try to understand what was going on, had my phone’s internal clock changed during the night? Glancing out the window by my bed, the heavy fog of sleep was ripped away by the sight that confronted me.
The sun sat on the edge of the horizon, black as the blackest pit, but wreathed in a hot gold and crimson crown. It hung ominously, casting its empty gaze down across the city. Time ceased to exist for me as I sat and stared, my mind racing as it dragged itself resistantly to some kind of conclusion. “An eclipse?” I wondered silently, the though brought me no comfort since I hadn’t seen a single post online the day before to predict one.
Unlocking my phone I fired up social media to see what everyone else was saying. This deep-seated sense of wrongness demanded answers and community.
I didn’t know it then, but that morning heralded the beginning of a great and unceremonious shift, a dull and despondent end, bereft of fanfare or warning, to all we have ever known.