“I broke the locket…”
The words echoed in Maria’s head until they fused to an incoherent mesh. They were drowning in dust and shattered glass, blood dripping from their cold hands where the heart shaped locket hung.
“Is this the end?”
Shrieks from apparitions poured through the cracks in the shattered walls. Faces of the long dead traveled through the empty spaces saddled to the wind, hitching a ride to the unknown before disappearing without a trace. A world once built on the clamoring sounds of machines reduced to absolute silence.
“If I close my eyes, will you still be there?”
Maria woke to the sound of severe weather sirens in a dark room covered in black satin shades. They were never one for the hustle most of the world endured day in and day out. Working third shift suited Maria. No one bothered them during the day, no one knocked on their door, no one needed to. They were sound asleep while everyone else tried to get along.
In an attempt to quiet the screeching sirens, Maria buried their head and moaned through the pillow, begging for a silence that never came. Turning to their partner, they begged them to see what all the noise was about.
“Hey, Maria… wake up. You have to see this.”
“Just take a picture and come back to bed. I have to work tonight.”
“No Maria, you have to come see this.”
“Ugh, I’ll never get back to sleep now.”
Maria pulled themselves out from under the sheets, moaning. Shuffling across the floor, Maria wrapped their arms around their partner’s waist and rested their chin on their shoulder before letting out a deep sigh.
“Why did you make me get outa bed?”
“Look at the city.”
Silence flooded Maria’s mind as sweat began to drip from their cheeks only to pool in the small cup of their partner’s shoulder.
“Wha.. what happened?”
The sky was clear, but the horizon was littered with dust plumes. There was nothing left of the city.
“Check your phone, Maria.”
Visibly shaken, Maria grabbed their phone from the nightstand, but there was no signal. They grabbed their partner’s phone, turned on the TV, radio… silence. Every signal had vanished.
“Chloe, we have to leave,” Maria turned.
The ground began to shake ferociously, and the walls cracked. Maria grabbed Chloe’s hand, pulling them towards the door.
“Wait! I need something first.”
“There’s no time Chloe! We need to leave!”
“Wait!”
Chloe ran back to the nightstand and grabbed something from the drawer. Maria caught a glimpse of a rusted chain.
“Leave it! The building is falling apart!”
They rushed down eleven flights of stairs never once encountering another resident. Not a single soul could be seen or heard.
They survived.
Dust filled the air to a point where even the sun was unable to penetrate. Their lungs felt heavy and their skin crawled as the dust and debris coated their sweaty, nearly naked skin. Everything was gone. Not even the bones were left to walk the silent streets.
“We’re alone.” Maria heard their partner sigh, but there was nothing left in their mind to respond.
For days they wandered without any sense of direction; time was a distant memory. Each building had turned to dust and every plant withered to the point of death. Every moment was black, every second a repeat of the last. The only sound left was the sound of their bodies begging for food and water. In the absence of light, their minds staggered through the blackness to build a world indistinguishable from a dream—marooned at the edge of the end.
They couldn’t believe they were still alive, but they still had each other.
Together they would dream of a different ending. The plans of the past became their imaginary world full of imaginary friends. From the dust they built a home, from the silence they filled with the bustling sounds of a family they would never have. In the absence of time, time became endless.
The world abandoned them, but they still had each other.
As time became moments, the moments became harder to breathe. The dust never settled and if there was still a sun, Maria and Chloe had forgotten it had ever existed.
Where pain once lingered as a constant companion, absence of everything filled its place. Chloe was losing hope. The imaginary world they built for themselves was scattering like the dust of the world before.
“Why did you take the locket Chloe?”
“Because I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Why would you lose me?”
“Because I’m already gone.”
Maria clutched the locket in their hand as the blood dripped down their knuckles. The years turned into seconds only for Maria to realize Chloe didn’t make it. The dream was only a dream, the ghosts only the wind passing through Maria’s tattered hair.
“If I close my eyes, will you still be there?”
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What We Chose Not to See
The morning the cracks appeared, no one said a word. It started with the sound. A thin, splitting noise like glass bending under pressure. I heard it while brushing my teeth. The mirror above the sink trembled slightly, but when I looked at it, my reflection stood steady. Calm. Ordinary. Behind me, however, a thin black line ran from the ceiling to the floor. I blinked. It was gone. At breakfast, my mother spread butter across toast as if the world had never once disappointed her. “Did you hear that?” I asked. “Hear what?” she replied, not looking up. “That sound. Like something breaking.” She smiled faintly. “Old houses make noises.” Our house wasn’t old. I wanted to argue, but my father folded his newspaper with precise movements and stood up for work. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY Outside, the sky was pale gray. Not cloudy — just colorless, like someone had erased the blue. The air felt thick in my lungs. On the way to school, I noticed something else. The streetlight at the corner leaned slightly to the left, its metal pole twisted unnaturally. Cars drove past it without slowing. A woman pushing a stroller walked directly beneath it without glancing up. Didn’t they see? Or were they choosing not to? At school, the cracks were everywhere. A long fracture ran across the classroom wall, jagged and dark. The clock above the board ticked backward for three full seconds before correcting itself. No one reacted. Mr. Halpern continued explaining supply and demand as if time reversing was part of the curriculum. I raised my hand. “Sir, the clock—” He didn’t look at it. “Focus on your notes.” “But it just—” “Everything is functioning normally,” he said firmly. The class nodded. I stopped talking. By afternoon, the air outside carried a faint smell of smoke. Not strong enough to cause panic. Just noticeable enough to make breathing uncomfortable. People walked with their usual rhythm. They checked their phones. They laughed. They ordered coffee. The café windows reflected the street, but something was wrong with the reflections. Buildings looked taller in the glass. Skewed. Like they were stretching upward beyond the sky. I stepped closer to look. In the reflection, I wasn’t alone. Behind me stood a crowd of faceless figures. Perfectly still. Watching. I turned. The street was empty. When I looked back at the glass, the reflection was normal again. A barista tapped on the window from inside. “We’re closing early.” “Why?” I asked. She hesitated. Just for a second. “Maintenance.” Smoke drifted faintly above the rooftops. No alarms sounded. That night, the cracks returned. This time they didn’t disappear. They spread across the ceiling like lightning frozen in place. My bedroom light flickered. The air hummed. From downstairs, I heard my parents talking in soft, measured voices. “…it’s spreading faster.” “…don’t scare him.” “…if we act normal, it stabilizes.” I froze. If we act normal. Stabilizes what? The humming grew louder. A picture frame fell from the wall, its glass shattering against the floor. I ran downstairs. The living room ceiling had split open. Not wide — just enough to reveal darkness beyond it. Not night sky darkness. Not empty space. Movement. Slow. Shifting. Breathing. My mother stood beneath it with her arms crossed. “Mom,” I whispered. “You see that, right?” She didn’t look up. “See what?” “The ceiling!” “It looks fine.” My father placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm. Too firm. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “Nothing is happening.” “But it is.” He leaned closer. “The more you acknowledge it, the worse it becomes.” The crack above us pulsed. Dust fell like ash. I felt something inside me twist. “So we just pretend?” “Yes,” my mother said gently. “That’s how we’ve always survived.” Survived what? The house groaned. The next morning, half the sky was gone. Where blue should have been, there was only blankness. Not clouds. Not storm. Just absence. News channels played cooking shows. Social media was full of selfies under a disappearing sky. #Blessed #AnotherBeautifulDay The city continued moving. I stood in the center of the street and stared upward. The blank space spread slowly, swallowing color inch by inch. Birds flew into it and never came out. A man beside me checked his watch. “Traffic’s bad today.” “Look up,” I said. He frowned. “At what?” The blankness crept closer to the sun. Shadows sharpened. Windows began cracking outward. Still, no one screamed. My chest tightened. Maybe they were right. Maybe acknowledging it made it worse. Maybe silence was safety. A loud snap split the air as the leaning streetlight finally broke in half, crashing onto a parked car. People stepped around it casually. I looked at the sky again. It was nearly all gone now. Only a thin strip of blue remained, trembling like fragile glass. My reflection appeared in a nearby shop window. Behind me stood the faceless crowd again. But this time, they weren’t watching. They were fading. And in the reflection, I saw something else. Cracks spreading across my own skin. Thin. Dark lines tracing my arms. I touched my face. Smooth. Untouched. But in the glass, I was breaking. The last piece of blue sky shattered without sound. Everything turned white. Blinding. Endless. I waited for panic. For screams. For collapse. Instead— Voices. Calm. Measured. “Beautiful morning.” “Everything’s fine.” “Nothing unusual.” The white brightness softened. Buildings reappeared. The sky returned — perfect blue. No cracks. No smoke. No blankness. The streetlight stood upright again. The car was undamaged. People walked past me with mild annoyance. I rushed home. The ceiling was whole. The walls smooth. My parents sat at the table drinking coffee. “Rough night?” my mother asked lightly. “You remember it,” I said. “You have to.” My father folded his newspaper. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY He met my eyes. “For things to remain,” he said carefully, “some things must go unseen.” My reflection in the window smiled before I did. And that was when I understood. The cracks hadn’t been in the world. They had been in me. And everyone else had learned the secret long ago: Ignore the fracture. Ignore the smoke. Ignore the missing sky. Because if even one person refuses to pretend— The illusion breaks. And maybe the world with it. So I sat down. Picked up my cup. Looked at the perfect ceiling. And said nothing.
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