The Sun.

This is a story I started a while ago. Now that its been months and I’m sure I won’t ever finish it, I’ve decided to share the bit I did get through. Happy Easter if that’s your thing.

The Sun.

I can remember when the sun died. I can remember the taste in my mouth, the tension in the air, the static that ran from head to toe, the stress from the shock. I can remember the sounds, the accident, I can remember everything so vividly that I still have nightmares to this day.

My name is Coral. I am the daughter of Michael Pine and Christine Pine, two of this worlds most brilliant adventurers. I was seven when the sun fell out of the sky.

My parents and I were on the main road coming from town. Our home was just ten minutes away, we were so close and all I had wanted to do was be there already so I could empty my bladder. My mother was singing a song from her childhood and my father was humming filler for her. They were my favorite musical duo; my father the driver on percussion and my mother on passenger vox. My father stopped humming first. Then my mothers singing seized.

What’s going on Michael? What’s going on!
Hold on, just everybody hold on.
Brake mike, what are you doing?
I’m trying!

The brakes were applied and my stomach was left down the road where they had begun being compressed. I squirmed to see what was going on, stretching and reaching with my young, boyish frame. Trying my damnedest to see out the windshield. All around me were the sounds of breaking windows and crunching metal. It reminded me of the time my aunt Wendy and cousin Julie brought me to a monster truck show. There was even kicked up dust all around the car from people swerving off the road into the safety of the grass.

There was a pile up starting a ways down the road and beyond that, like a green screen background- just as unbelievable as your local weather turd in front of a crystal clear view of a beautiful skyline somewhere fucking else- the sun. A great, beautiful, burning mass of something I have yet to describe perfectly. It was close and getting closer. I remember physically losing my breath and my mother reaching beyond her seat to block my wide eyes.

Hold on!
Sit back baby
Cover your eyes
Daddy’s going to fix this.
Sit back

I did as I was told. That’s all I had, all I was allowed to see. I sat flat and tight to my seat and closed my eyes tighter than I crossed my legs on my pathetic prom night. I think I started developing crows feet at the corner of my eyes that day. I held them shut so tightly, I was sure they would never open again.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a strange hospital where they told me that my father must have tried to spin the car around and head away from the pile up. He must have got on to the grass when he found a free moment to and got a good ways before another vehicle tried to do the same.

When the old jeep was found I was the only one left alive. The women at the hospital said I was very fortunate and that they were terribly surprised that I was responsive in such a short amount of time. I wasn’t, of course. I have the blood of adventurers, the will of a hundred men, the determination of- well. Something. I wasn’t surprised.

I was surprised however when I realized that I couldn’t see. The sun had died, that’s what everyone said. It gave up and just- oops! Stopped working right. Everyone thought it was like the batteries died or someone flipped a switch. No one took blame and everyone praised the sun as Sun, their new God. At seven I didn’t buy it and it made me ache thoroughly that so many people did. I couldn’t stomach it and my head couldn’t wrap itself around the thought.

Once I was seen as fit to be up and walking around with the living I was ushered into a life of child labor. Once the sun dies all laws prior to the great burny ones disappearance are called off. New rules and laws are set in motion. We return to the ways of those old farts that wore weird hats and worked from dawn til dusk. I’ve felt stuck here for thirteen years now, filling vaccines, bandaging strangers, giving baths, helping those younger than me with their tasks in the dim lighting that the hospital had to offer. After a while you just start to know your place I suppose…

Except I’m tired of my place. And I miss my mother and my father.

Perhaps even the sun.


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