Author : Dakota Brown

“We are born out of darkness,” she told herself begrudgingly. “Certainly it holds no true power.”

Around her, the frightened masses had gathered (after, of course, a stretch of panicked footfalls and curses towards the heavens). They found each other in the confusion, linking arms and muttering their fears. The generators had shut down. The darkness was upon them.

She had made her way down the hospital corridors enough to know the dimensions by heart: each doorway passed had always been a moment of anticipation, each elbowed turn a stifled tear. Her mother’s room had been the destination, but when the last drop of gasoline burned out it became the starting point of a journey that she had too little time to fear.

The cables and wires connecting her mother to the hospital’s machines were removed hastily, her only hesitance the grunts of discomfort the frail woman attempted to hide.

“It’s not far,” the young girl lied. “And the lights may be back before our eyes can even adjust.”

The old woman mumbled part of a sentence, the intention of which was to know why the lights had gone out. Her daughter threw her around her neck and joked “I guess even the government has trouble paying their bills.”

Groans of sorrow, fear, and anger filled the darkness, the staff and patients reveling in their soon to be demise. Many sought answers from their gods. Many lashed out when they heard no answer.

Silence, a patient entity awaiting moments of extremity, made itself known. The hospital collectively fell to a hush, each person knowing what was to come. The girl trudged on, however, mother in tow.

“They think this is the end. I hate it for them. Their belief makes it so.”

A swift kick to the base of the entrance door marked the two women’s exit, though the darkness outside mirrored the one they had escaped.

“They have faith, mother, and that is important. But,” she trilled as she retrieved a battery cell from her satchel, “preparation needn’t be ignored.”

The two women, one small from age and one small from sickness, fit comfortably in the single occupant rail capsule. With a quick charge and a push of a button, the capsule lit up and shot off, the mother’s soft brown eyes flickering in the incandescent glow of the control panel. They were eyes that predated sickness. They were eyes that inspired action.

The girl imagined the residents of the city consumed by the darkness, allowing themselves to be torn into nothingness by the nothingness around them, all the while praying for release to gods who had granted them minds and willpower permitting their escapes.

They strained their voices and necks praying to the heavens, but she found the gods in a pair of hazel eyes.