Under the Third Sun

As a sudden global catastrophe hits the Earth, one man sits on a roof and enjoys the last of the sunlight, while memories and seagulls come to him.

I remember the sun being warmer when I was a child. Warmer, more orange, less blinding. I remember being able to look up at the sky - even at the sun itself - for a good couple of seconds before having to look away.

But now I’m an adult I feel like the sun is too white. Too harsh and piercing, bleaching out the sky and punishing my eyes.

I know it must be nothing but my rose-tinted view of the past, the romance of memory. But I can’t help but think it every time I’m sat in the car waiting in traffic, facing the blinding light as it bounces off the asphalt. Or whenever I’m sat at my desk, and the sun creeps round the room and into my eyes. This happens at exactly half two during late summer. I’m never ready for it and always tut and shift my monitor to block it out.

But today I sit and wait for it to reach my eyes. When it does I lean back with my eyelids shut lightly, letting the sun warm my face as I listen to the rolling news that plays on the TV mounted to the wall in the corner of the office. Everyone else is crowded around it, watching the anchor as she reads shakily from the prompter. I can only hear snippets from where I sit, but I already know what the story is. There is no new information they could give that would change the truth. A few phrases reach me at my desk though. Words like “…electromagnetic interference…” and “…sudden extreme solar activity…” and “…flare of unprecedented magnitude…”.

Everyone seems to be hoping for some new piece of information that will save us. But it’s clear there’s no hope. In the next ten hours we will be back in the dark ages. The swarm of satellites that sustains us will be swatted away by the cruel, indifferent hand of the sun. In the next twenty hours the protective ozone layer will be all but stripped away, leaving us exposed to the deadly emissions of the universe. X-rays and all types of radiation normally absorbed will burn life away. But this will all be accompanied by the most beautiful aurora the planet has ever seen. A painfully beautiful dance of lights to serenade the death throes of humanity. A final goodbye from Earth to us.

This has only just been announced. Some people left in silence when the first mentions of the end of all life came through. But I’m surprised at how many people stayed, staring at the TV in quiet disbelief. I would say it’s almost dignified, but I don’t think their reactions are deliberate enough. I didn’t see the need to panic immediately. I thought I might as well enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face while it’s there, and then, when it passes my desk again, maybe I will consider getting more worked up about it.

Don sits on the desk opposite. He is slumped in his desk chair, his mouth open slightly as he watches the TV. Every now and then he mumbles things like “Jesus” and “my god“.

“I don’t think either of them are going to help Don,” I say.

“How are you so relaxed?” Don says. “Are you not watching this? They’re having to take one of the space shuttles out of mothballs and load it on to a Russian rocket to save the astronauts in orbit.”

“Why?”

“So they don’t fry up there. Why do you think?”

“But we’re all dead Don.” The sun begins to leave my face and move across the office.

“They want to be with their families though. I can understand that.”

I open my eyes slowly. My face feels cold now the light has left it. I feel a sudden pang as I realise I might not feel the sun again.

“Want to go on to the roof?” I ask Don.

“What? Why?”

“Probably more peaceful up there. Fancy it?”

“No way. I don’t know why I’m still here. I’m going home. Gonna pick the kids up on the way and try and stock up the basement. Do yourself a favour and try and get somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere’s safe Don.”

He pulls on his jacket and grabs his bag. “Good luck.”

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I make my way up to the roof. The concrete is warm from the sun, and it feels soothing to sit on the bare stone. I look across the city and can almost feel the storm of panic begin to wash over the world after the calm of the shock, like a tsunami roaring in after the silence of the outgoing tide. Maybe I’m just imagining it. From here all I can see are glass towers, concrete buildings and the occasional patch of trees. Humans might as well not exist at all from where I am.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. A news update.

EMERGENCY BROADCAST FROM UNITED NATIONS BEGINS. RUMOURS OF RADICAL PROPOSAL FROM COUNCIL SESSION EMERGE.

Radical proposal. Underground bunkers? Some kind of secret spaceship they’ve been building? Those things didn’t really happen. I expect it to be nothing more than a token idea to keep people busy in these last few hours. Maybe it will keep mass panic at bay. I doubt it though.

Above me a couple of seagulls whirl about each other. Fighting? Courting? Do seagulls court each other or do they just get straight to mating? Maybe I’ll never know now. These birds have no clue that they will be dead by this time tomorrow. I sit and watch them for as long as they are there. I don’t know how long. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life up here. Why go anywhere else? I have no one to be with really. I decide to spend the rest of my life on this roof, with these birds.

My phone buzzes again.

SECRETARY GENERAL ANNOUNCES NEW PLAN AND HOPE FOR HUMANKIND: OPERATION RABBITHOLE.

What a stupid name. I place my phone face down on the stone next to me, and lay back on the warm concrete to wait for the birds to return.

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I’m back in my parents garden and I’m eight or nine. The chickens are resting in the shallow water of the tiny stream that runs through the meadow by our house and Dad is strimming the long grass. The afternoon is hot and dusty, but the sun is warm and nurturing as it used to be. I knew I remembered it right. The harsh sun of my grown up years is nowhere to be seen. I have just learned in school that everything - the sun, the earth, us - was made from the same stuff. At first I couldn’t believe it, but as I sit with the chickens in the reassuring sunshine I don’t just believe it, I feel it too.

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I wake up to neon green and blue ribbons pulsing through the sky. I stand up on the concrete of the roof and look at the city as it is bathed in the impossible light. The flare has begun. The aurora lights the world as though it were daytime. It doesn’t slip gently across the sky like in the videos I’ve seen, but pulses and beats violently, a furious electric ocean battering our ship, our home. I feel as though it should be making a sound, but the ripping apart of the world is silent.

I check my phone. Nine thirty. There is no more signal. There never would be again. But my phone has automatically downloaded the news right up until the last moment. I find myself wondering if the astronauts made it back to Earth. I suppose I will never know now.

The headlines on my phone scream out at me.

PROJECT RABBITHOLE DETAILS EMERGE. PARTICLE ACCELERATORS PREPARE.

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CERN REPORTS MISSALIGNEMENT IN SYSTEM. DELAY THREE HOURS.

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LOOTING AND MASS PANIC REPORTED ACROSS PLANET. UN SEC.GEN. APPEALS FOR CALM.

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DALAI LAMA ADDRESSES WORLD. SPEAKS OF UNITY AND ONENESS IN FACE OF CATASTROPHE.

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CERN REPORTS READY. ACCELERATORS PREPARE FOR SECOND ATTEMPT OF OPERATION RABBITHOLE.

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FIRST SATELLITES GO DARK. WORLD HOLDS BREATH.

That is the last headline. I wonder what the particle accelerators were attempting. I remember when the first one was first switched on, everyone went crazy thinking it would give birth to a black hole that would devour the Earth. The end turns out to be much more predictable.

Beside me I hear the caw of a seagull. The two I watched earlier maybe? They sit together, huddled in a dirty crude nest wedged between two rusty satellite dishes. They look distressed but hide together under each others wing. I guess they must have been flirting then. I remember how birds are sensitive to electromagnetic waves, and think how all the birds in the world must be in pain right now. I want to pick them up and protect them but don’t. They can look after each other well enough.

I lie back down and look up at the aurora. It’s so bright it almost hurts to look at it. But I close my eyes and the lights play across my eyelids. I drift away again.

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I’m back in my past and in the middle of my first kiss. It’s lunchtime and I’m fourteen. We are sat on the artificial turf of one of the cricket pitches at school, and after a few awkward moments and laughs, we are kissing. Both of us are learning on the job. Her nose is cold and our chins are wet as we pull apart. The summer sun is behind her head, blinding me whenever we aren’t kissing. She smiles at me and we do it again. When we pull apart I’m blinded by the light once again. It’s harsh and white. I think it’s the first time I remember the sun being different. Maybe this is my first adult memory. But whatever the reason, the sun never seemed so blinding. We keep kissing, if only so I can keep closing my eyes.

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Something vibrates very slightly through the concrete and I open my eyes after an unknown amount of time. The sky is still shouting green, blue and violet. The concrete beneath me is cold now, the warmth of the day having bled away. I look out across the city and try to hear people. I think I hear a voice somewhere down below, but it could be anything. I check my phone out of habit - I know there is no signal. But a new message has flashed across the screen.

EMERGENCY PUBLIC BROADCAST: OPERATION RABBITHOLE COMMENCING AT TWENTY-THREE HUNDRED HOURS. ACCELERATORS APPROACHING CRITICAL FREQUENCY. STANDBY.

Maybe this was worth paying attention to. I check the time. Thirty seconds until eleven. What was it that caused me to wake up just as this special event was meant to happen? Couldn’t we be allowed to end in peace? Why the need for a pointless show of optimism now? There would be no more elections.

A slight quiver again. This time slightly stronger. I realise my entire body is vibrating, not just the ground. My phone buzzes.

PARTICLE ACCELERATORS AT CRITICAL FREQUENCY. SPACIAL HARMONICS ESTABLISHED. PREPARE FOR TRANSFER. PLEASE COVER EYES.

The gulls next to me shoot into the air and caw. The vibrations begin again and the satellite dish shakes the nest apart. The shaking feels consistent, not violent like an earthquake. It does not feel strong enough to tear buildings down, but it feels confident enough to move continents given time.

The sky explodes and I shield my eyes.

Everything is still and quiet. The seagulls are still wheeling above me, cawing manically. But they calm gradually, and I open my eyes.

The world is still there. The aurora is gone, and the sky is visible again. Light clouds drift lazily across the sky, and for the first time since my remembered childhood, I can look at the sun. It shines a deep, warm green, and does not hurt my eyes. I look out at the city, and at the third sun of my life.

 The End