The comet flickered in the northern sky.
My phone beeped with a state of emergency because: crazy people. Comet cultists were planning a purge—that’s how I translated their rantings—and a curfew had been put in place. Apparently, the end was nigh. Blah, blah, blah.
I was excused from curfew because I was an essential worker. Lucky me.
The sky held my attention while walking past the sagging chain-link fence to everyone’s favorite shipping company. The big old cinderblock of a building squatted in a yard full of long haul trailers.
The moon rose full and bright, but the comet was the real dazzler, a dancing star among the others, its tail a faint wisp of light.
The UN had gathered earlier to discuss whether or not to blow it out of the solar system with nukes or something. News reports said they were still debating it when I left for work. I figured they’d debate until the comet passed the planet.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Despite all the excitement, I operated on the principle that disaster would be less than total. I still had to buy food, pay for my car, and scrape together the rest of my rent money.
At the door, one of the older workers held it for me and said, “Here ya go, honey.”
I hated endearments. With or without condescension. Even as a kid, no matter who spoke, it hit wrong. I nodded tersely and slid past the metal detector, flashing my badge at the guard.
Inside, the usual chatter was a little quieter than normal. A small group of sweat-soaked, heavily scented individuals passed me, talking about getting 30 racks for the world-end game. They were joking. Mostly.
“The story goes, people disappeared the last time this thing showed up, a hundred years ago.”
I glanced around but couldn’t tell who said it. Their voices echoed across concrete and steel. I kept walking past noticeboards cluttered with job postings and HR bulletins. Just another day for me.
Until the world went white.
-ARCHIVE-
Drifters.
