My mom passed away when I was 12 years old. Cancer. Before the disaster, the day she left us was the saddest day of my life. How could a person be so full of life in one moment, and then stricken with a virulent disease in the next? Out of all the people I knew and loved, why her? She was the closest friend I ever had. When I was growing up, she was always there. Whether it was waking me up in the morning and taking me to school, watching me play sports, or cheering me up after a horrible day, my mother was always there. I remember her pretty smile, and her endearing brown eyes that can cast a spell. Along with her presence came a sort of glow, lighting and warming the hearts of anyone who she came in contact with. Amicable, smart, confident, and beautiful, she was the total package. But most of all, she was my mother.
Then one day, she suffered a stroke while she was in her garden. When we rushed her into the hospital and waited there, the doctor told me and Dad the bad news. Ever since then, the one person who was constantly, actively involved in my life was taken away from me. Replaced with a woman who still possessed the same features of my mother, but not the same soul. A soul tormented by the body’s betrayal. As the days withered away, so did she. Then one day, she was gone. Gone forever.
Whenever I think about that day, it’s like reliving every single moment all over again. Along with the images of my mother’s final moments of life came the rush of emotions. While she struggled to muster her final breath, I held her hand as tears trickled down my face, struggling to face this reality. I repeatedly wished for all of this to be a bad dream, and that I would wake up and she would be back to normal. I even closed my eyes from time to time, hoping to reopen them to the mother I used to know.
“Put a smile on your face, darling,” she whispered. “I want the last thing I see is your handsome smile.” I wiped the tears off my face and fulfilled her request. “That’s better.” As soon as her eyes closed, I felt like my eyes were waterfalls. “Don’t worry, Thomas. One day…you’re gonna…save…the world.” Those were her last words. As a kid, I thought the heroes I saw on T.V. were real. When I finally realized that they were all made up, it broke my heart. When my mom saw me crying, she told me that one day I was going to be a super hero and save the world. “Even if their fake, that doesn’t mean you should stop trying to be one yourself.” I told her that I didn’t even have super powers or high tech gadgets. “So what? Those don’t really matter. What does matter is what you can do with what you got. Don’t worry, Thomas. You’re gonna save the world.”
But I couldn’t save the world, because I lost her. Once she was gone, it was just Dad and me. Actually, it was just me.
Before Mom’s death, I never really saw my father around. As the main financial support for our family, he constantly worked long hours. On most occasions, he would choose work over other important matters, like his family. Not once did I see him at any of my sporting events, nor was he actively involved in my life whatsoever. My dad was one of the top scientists for the nuclear power plant, which used to be in the outskirts of town, about an hour away from home. I thought my relationship with my father would change for the better when Mom passed away. Unfortunately, it got even worse.
Dad was devastated the moment she left us. While I sat by her side, he had his back to the wall, watching over the two of us. Something he hasn’t done very often in my lifetime. I never witnessed my father cry before, and after seeing it happen, lets just say that there was a glimmer of hope, a sign that issues between my father and I will be resolved as time progressed. But after her death, the only thing that progressed was time itself.
After taking a couple of weeks off, my father went back to his working regiment. Whenever he was home, he was busy telling me what not to do. Because of him, I never got my driver’s license. I’m sure the pain of Mom’s death still lingered, but it doesn’t mean that the end of the world was coming. His over-protectiveness eventually became borderline insanity.
By far the craziest thing he ever did was building the nuclear shelter, a few stories below our house. After experiencing a small leak at the nuclear plant, my dad began a project of his own — creating his own shelter to protect the two of us.
“Come on, Dad. You can’t be serious,” I said to him while he mounted the Cat to start digging a hole in the backyard. “It’s like you’re in the 50′s or something. You’re being too paranoid.”
Once he settled into the vehicle, he looked at me and said, “What if it wasn’t a small leak the next time? What if the reactor exploded, releasing dangerous levels of radiation out into the atmosphere, contaminating anything and everything in his town?”
“You’re crazy,” I responded, trying to make sense of all of this on my head, but then again I was stoned. “Nothing like that is going to happen.”
“I didn’t expect your mother to get cancer, Thomas,” he proclaimed, his tone of voice as serious as a heart attack.
Instead of convincing me, his statement made me angry, virtually killing my high. “Don’t you fucking dare bring Mom into this!” I shouted. “You’re blowing things way out of proportion, Dad! Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that, by going through with this, isn’t going to do any good?”
“Trust me, kiddo. This is for the best of us.”
“No, dad. I don’t think you know what’s best for me.”
As he started the ignition to the machine, I furiously walked back inside the house. He may be a genius in the world of science and technology, but he was an idiot at being a father. It took him two years to finish building the shelter. Tragically, it only took a few more days until it actually came in handy.
***
The day it happened started off like any other ordinary day in the summer time. I woke up, still hungover from last night’s party, and smoked a couple of bowls before making myself some breakfast. Since it was a day of recovery, I planned to spend the entire day lounging around the house, relaxing the day away.
Nothing good was on TV and I was getting desperate for any kind of entertainment. I stopped playing video games a couple of years ago, so that was out of the question. Shooting hoops in the driveway is a no-go, I’m sure if I engage in any kind of physical activity, the worse my body would feel, especially after taking 13 shots of tequila last night. Tequila Tuesdays always end harshly. I searched around the house for something to do, still nothing seemed fun enough. But when I came across the new addition to our house, a small room build for the sole purpose of entering the shelter, I stumbled upon an adventure.
“Bingo.”
In order to gain access to the shelter, I had to take an elevator down. When I reached my destination, I took the time to survey the area. The shelter itself was no bigger than two hotel rooms. Equipped with the essentials — a bed, enough food to last years, a fridge, a television set, computer, bathroom, etc. — it was like stepping into a small house. Many of my father’s inventions were in this room as well, including his water filtration system. He got the idea from the movie “Waterworld,” starring Kevin Costner as a half man, half mermaid, when Kevin pee’d into some sort of device that turned his urine into drinkable water. I’m sure my father knew it would come in handy one day. Then, I discovered there was a ventilation system in the room, which meant only one thing to me. Smoking optional. Luckily I had my bud and pipe in my pocket, so I hopped on the bed and packed myself my fourth bowl of the day.
Fortunately, along with the weed and pipe, I brought my iPod and charger. So as I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with happy smoke, I bumped my head to “Ain’t Nothing But a G Thang” by Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. Classic tune. This is usually what I do whenever I smoked by myself. Music plus marijuana equals awesomeness. When I finished smoking, I felt as high as a kite in outer space, if kites were capable of exceeding heights to that degree. A few seconds later, I fell asleep.
Two hours later, that was when it started.
I woke up to the sounds of muffled explosions, shaking the shelter as if an earthquake was happening. I didn’t know what to think of it. For a few minutes, I sat up on top of the bed as the explosions continued. Some of them were quiet, while some were loud. The louder they were, the harder it shook.
“What the fuck is going on?”
When I spotted the television across the bed, I searched for the remote control. When I found it, I turned on the TV, and I couldn’t believe what I saw.
***
Headline: Breaking News -The End Is Near
A saddened CNN reporter looks into the camera, her composure was no where to be found. Tears flowed down her face as she reads off the teleprompter.
“On July 28th, 2013, a war has been declared between the conflicting superpowers of the world. As soon as the declaration was announced, various nuclear warheads have been launched. The first set of attacks occurred in the United States, and still continues. Shortly afterwards, nuclear warheads capable of destroying an entire country were launched, aimed at different countries all over the world.”
She wiped the tears from her face, took a deep breath, and continued her report.
“There appears to be nuclear warheads heading towards every country in the world. Fortunately it hasn’t struck our headquarters in England, but in a few minutes, it will. The end of the world is now upon us. As human beings, our destructive capabilities have reached its maximum capacity. We’ve reached a point in our existence where there is no solution and no answers to our problems such as world peace, a stable economy, a stable society, an honest government. This is the final hour of our time on this Earth, and we failed…we fai–.”
The channel went dead.
