The Last Day of Summer

Rain pattered softly around Ophelia, accented by the deep rumble of thunder on the horizon. The gentle whisper of waves lapping the sand accompanied the natural symphony while a fire crackled merrily nearby. Crickets chirruped somewhere in the distance, and the aroma of lavender and jasmine wafted through the damp air.

Ophelia took a sip of her tea, savoring the chamomile as it caressed her tastebuds and warmed her insides. She’d wrapped herself in her softest blanket, not to protect against the chill but because the fleece was soothing against her bared skin. She couldn’t afford to be barefoot, not yet, so she wore her most comfortable socks, a mismatched set whose mates were lost in the laundry months ago, with shoes and sensible trousers.

Her reverie was interrupted by a bright flash. Her teacup clattered against its saucer, spilling hot liquid over her fingertips. Ophelia’s eyes shot open.

Her apartment was dim, apart from the portentous orange glow steadily intensifying on the other side of her drawn curtains. Only a few of her lights were on, mostly in her kitchen where she’d been cooking no more than a few minutes ago. The lamp in the corner had gone dark, its bulb blackened, and the sharp stench of phosphorus assaulted her nose.

She cautiously removed her headphones to allow the sounds of chaos back in. Car alarms wailed in the street. Voices shrieked and shouted. Glass shattered and crunched, punctuating the crackling roar of a distressed world. She might have even heard a real fire raging in the distance. All beneath the constant thrum and pulse that grew louder with each passing hour.

Ophelia set her mouth and marched toward her front door. Her bookcase, dresser, and couch still walled off her tiny entryway, and nothing had shifted in the pile to indicate that anyone had tried to force their way into her apartment. She padded to her rear window where the fire escape was located. The window was securely latched, except any determined intruder could break the glass with little effort so she hadn’t bothered to barricade it; the climb up the rusted ladder had been enough to discourage thieves and vandals. People were preoccupied with more important matters at present if the continued sound of pandemonium outside was any indicator.

Her curtains were tightly drawn, as they were all around the apartment, against the warmth and light that radiated through the glass. Her air conditioner shuddered and whined with the effort of keeping her apartment cool, and it would give out before the end, but she would not suffer the stifling heat a moment longer than necessary.

Nevertheless, her curiosity seized hold of her and held fast. She’d last seen Alexander’s Folly – a moniker coined to mock her and her celestial discovery – when it was still months away from reaching Earth. When it was only a speck seen by a backyard telescope, not yet beheld by the horrified naked eye. When there had still been time to stop it.

She didn’t think that she could face the Folly now. Instead, she pulled the curtains tighter, willing them to blot out the rapidly approaching grand finale, and replaced her headphones over her ears. She should like to draw herself a bath. With scented oils and candlelight.