The man exhaled a quiet, triumphant sigh; his lungs had long
awaited this moment. As the man stood,
he instinctively began to straighten his back. He had learned to pleasantly endure, and now
almost began to expect, the argument he began to hear as his body realigned
itself to the world. No more would he
have to subject it to long hours of odd positions and grueling labor, his mind
struggling to keep itself committed to such detail. He could finally rest. He had finished the house; his father, had he
lived to see this moment, would certainly be proud.
As he dusted off his hands, his wife appeared from inside
the home. “We did it,” spoke the man.
His wife nodded to him and returned inside the house.
As the man entered the house, rather his home, he sat down next to a radio that
was ablaze with unusual activity.
“…nobody knows where
or what this even is. Nothing of this
likeness has ever been reported or even talked about. This is absolutely something out of legend.
Or myth. Or… God knows what.”
“Can you speculate its
direction? Where is this thing headed?”
“It seems to be traveling
in straight line and…”
A strange curiosity began to creep into the man’s recently
forged mental state. The same story was
being broadcast on each station that the man could find. Piecing together the scattered reports, the
man learned that a strange column of light had appeared out of seeming
nothingness. The column of pure, inexplicable
light was methodically tracking its way through nearby townships to the north. Estimates placed the column close to 72 feet
in diameter, yet acknowledged that the sheer luminosity of the column made it
difficult to measure, let alone observe.
As the pillar traveled, it engulfed everything in its path, leaving
nothing behind but scorched earth and debris in its wake.
An uncomfortable weight pressed the man as he walked outside
and to the end of his lane. To the
north, the man could barely begin to see outlines of a strange, swirling cloud
formation. A line of cars caught the
man’s eye on the nearby county road; most made their way north, but a few were
seen making their way freely to the south.
The southerly cars were made even more peculiar by the belongings that
were strapped at every angle to them.
The man returned to his home and began to clean up; the
white paint on his hands masked a few of the cuts and scrapes on his weathered
hands. The house had welcomed the
changes he had brought, but that was not to say that it had not put up some
resistance at times. Splinters,
scratches, and a bruised thumb adorned his hands. He scrubbed and scrubbed until the last
flecks of paint were off of him.
The man returned to his porch, unwilling to glance to the
north. The pit in his throat reminded
him of the distraction that the world had briefly focused on moments before,
but that it was already beginning to grow weary of. There would always be another storm, another
catastrophic sampling of nature to be sought out and found.
The evening drew on.
The man, tired from his long hours, put on his best suit despite having
no plans for the evening. He preheated
the oven to warm up some leftovers from the night before. While he waited, the man returned to his
porch.
The column now roared one-hundred yards from the man’s
home. The man could audibly hear a groan
emit from the churning, radiant beast as it methodically crept towards
him.
As the man finally addressed the column, he hated it. He began to feel every muscle tighten, every
aggressive thought that he had long since buried begin to come forth. Yet the man could not condemn the pillar; a
strange attraction could be found within its terror. The man rose from his chair, a blank look on
his face. Again, he straightened his
back as he had begun to do so many times before. The oven’s timer sang that it was ready.
The remaining travelers that continued to track the light
stood in still in their shock. Since
their banding together, they had not witnessed anything of this scale, this unsettling
inevitability. The light had journeyed
for miles and miles and destroyed anything it touched, yet it had never
encountered another property or structure.
The column now seemed drawn to the home, just as the man now drew
himself closer to the light.
The man stood squarely in his yard, tall in his
determination. A constant, blank glaze
on his face was all that the onlookers could make out.
Slowly, one by one, the onlookers began to wave, to jump, to
yell at the man to move, to get out of the way.
The man stood undeterred; the blank look was all that he betrayed.
A few onlookers began to move down from their observation
point as screams began to quicken in their urgency. No one would be able to reach the man,
despite the strength of their legs or lungs.
When all had seemed final, the man raised a fist. Brows furrowed and legs apart, he began to
yell, to scream at the column. Spittle flew from his mouth as he raged
against the light’s encroachment upon his life.
His home, all that he had built, he argued and fought for, challenging the
light for each inch of ground it swallowed.
And then he was gone.
The light engulfed the lawn, the fence, the porch, and
finally, the home. Room by room, the
column screeched. Efficiently,
systematically the light left nothing to be pieced together following its
aftermath.
The column then began to flicker as it seemed finally
satisfied in its task. The dim roar
faltered, finally ending altogether.
The onlookers took a moment to hold one another, to
make sure that they could do all that they could to help each other out.
Then, one by one, they began to disperse.
They returned to their houses, their
homes, and returned to their lives.
No one spoke of the man.
