Ember Sunrise
Their eyes were imprisoned, jailed by their own curiosity, and locked onto a life sentence with no possibility of escape; no chance of parole. 3:41pm (PST) filled the corner of their modest flat screen, which they had affixed over the mantle last summer. Their breathing was shallow, and remained secondary to their other bodily functions, all of them. For now, they were very much alive. Besides the reporters over-speaking the video clips on the television, it was quiet. It was deadly quiet. The world was watching in anticipation, holding its breath, waiting, just like Hank and Francis were, while recessed in their Lazy-Boy knock-offs. They were frozen, side by side, separated only by a small table, a lamp, and their overweight calico who fancied licking itself over anything else. King of the jungle, hierarch of the household, the world had stopped for everyone, yet it revolved around this feline’s nightly routine, and for him, his pretentious licking commenced. If only he knew.
Even the birds, and the wind that carries them, remained silent and still, careful not to whistle a tune or to rustle the tree branches outside. The screen radiated a series of light bursts and reoccurring banners which highlighted the wrinkles in their foreheads, and the impending doom held on their faces. Nothing could break them from the inconceivable truth that cemented them in their place except their tender hands that reached out for one another’s embrace. Francis found Hank first. Overwhelmed with shock and fear her hand trembled across his features to eventually find his hand. With her usual grace, and the deepest love for her husband, she squeezed. Hank interlaced his fingers returning the gesture, but their eyes remained glued to the screen. They had hoped it was an April fool’s prank, or perhaps a movie. Unfortunately, it was September, a week before their twentieth anniversary, and it was a Thursday; Not a typical day for a film release. This unequivocally was not a joke.
The first red button had been pushed, and a day that no one thought would happen, had happened. On their way, heading for the entire the west coast of the United States, were one-hundred-thirty-three intercontinental ballistic missiles, each armed with a nuclear warhead that averaged forty times more powerful than Hiroshima. The display on their television was old news, as the government acted in their usual turtle-like pace, intentionally holding back its warning to the public of the Pacific submarine fleet that fired upon us fifteen minutes prior. Hank and Francis had minutes to live if they were lucky, seconds, if they were less, and now living in Seattle didn’t seem like the dream that they had originally sought out. Outrunning a nuclear blast seemed implausible with or without a timely warning, and unfortunately, there was room left for regrets.
With no time to think, no life left to live, and any future memories already destroyed they finally broke their gazes from the wall, with a fateful acceptance. The screen glazed over into an endless blackness, and Hank carefully set down his remote in the depths of his recliner pocket. Their fingers remained balled into an unbreakable fusion of love, as they stood up facing toward each other. Frances locked eyes with him, and Hank did with her. He gripped her by the waist, pulling her closer like he always did when he meant to get her attention. Like the day he said his vows; Like the day that he asked her out for the first time; Like now. He struggled to work up a word from his lips, but eventually found some, while she remained lost in his eyes; her favorite memories flooding her view.
“Frankie--”
“Shh,” she interrupted while nodding her head, and placed a single finger across his lips. “I know.”
No words were needed. Nothing was needed. They both just knew. Frances rested her head against his chest, and he nuzzled his chin into her cushioned crown, their heartbeats syncing for one last time.
As light is faster than sound, the exponential glow of a miniature sunrise flooded its warmth through the windows. The room became white-washed in a heavenly brilliance. It was silent, but astonishing. Their grip tightened on each other, and their eyes wrinkled in anticipation of an inconceivable pain. Death was imminent. Before the sound could arrive, and with the finality of their love securely held in each other’s arms, their bodies, their home, the memories they cherished, and even the obese cat, all withered away into a dust cloud of ashes miles into the atmosphere, only to have ever been joined as one, connected by love, and now remembered by no one.