It was in a field of daisies that he first told me he loved me.
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The soft golden luster of the setting sun, the delicate spring breeze, the way he looked at me that evening as if I was more dazzling than the sun, moon, and all the stars. He looked at me like he loved me.
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I'd known him for so long that he was an element of who I was. Before he was my lover, he was my companion, my partner in crime, someone I couldn't bare being without. And that was still true as we grew older. Only then, I couldn't envision my life without him; he was my past, present, and future.
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My mother told me I was naive; my friends said I was delusional. They deemed me absurd for falling so hard and so young. But I knew. I knew the moment I fixed my eye on him that I was in love. Even when I was too young to know what love was. Even when I was just a seventeen-year-old girl with her happily ever after arranged down to each nitty-gritty detail.
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My life was absolutely and completely perfect.
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But perfect never lasts forever.
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"Kennedy? You home?" I'm in my bedroom, the news playing live on my television.
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"Yeah," my eyes remain stapled to the screen, pinned to the shot of the president as he goes on and on about the suitable preparations. preparations for the end of the world.
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No one expected it. I mean, how could you? Warfare and air raid drills; it's the kind of apocalyptic crap you only see in the movies.
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It started two weeks ago. Well, I guess it had already been happening for a while, but it didn't really pick up until the seventh of July when the rumors of nuclear action began to sweep throughout the nation.
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Hysteria was the first response for everyone. Honestly, how else are you expected to react when you're told that your life is over?
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The shelves were soon barren, the streets packed, and every residence humming with this anxious energy. Everyone was doing their best to equip themselves for the inescapable apocalypse. Even my family took to it, purchasing iodine tablets and batteries, things that could possibly save their lives. I, nonetheless, thought it was no use; we were all going to die anyway.
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After the initial scare, everyone kind of went into denial. After all, days went by, and nothing ensued, so who could really guarantee that anything would ensue?
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My boyfriend enters my doorway, his eyes instantly fixed on the screen before me.
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"You know, they're saying it could happen tonight."
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A lump swells in my throat, but I swallow it down and shake my head.
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"Yeah, but they've said that just about every night," my eyes lift to his, which are filled with suspicion. "The truth is Alex, the whole world could explode into bits right now and there's nothing we can do about it."
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"I know, I know," he sits beside me and tugs the comforter over his legs. "Can I stay over tonight anyway? I don't know, I just have a horrible feeling, and I can't shake it."
"Of course," my voice comes out all soft and wobbly; it aggravates me. I clear my throat. "Anyway, do you want a snack? There is plenty of food in the pantry."
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He offers me a smile before telling me he's lost his appetite. Somehow, his saying that gives me a pit in my stomach.
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He stays the entire day; we mainly just hang around doing nothing but watching the news, but after a while, it gets insanely depressing hearing all about your soon-approaching demise, so we go for a walk, making sure to be back by the set nationwide curfew. What a curfew does against nukes is beyond me. But I have no choice but to go along with it.
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Dinner's nothing but canned soup; only one helping allowed each since my mother's dead set on rationing everything. It's not very great tasting, and it's undoubtedly not enough to fill your stomach. But it's not like any of us end up eating much anyway. Appetites are one of the many things that the impending doom has already robbed us of.
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The sunset is breathtaking tonight, a radiant orange striped with blood red and the color of gold. We watch it out on the veranda, even though the air is cool with a summer evening breeze and the mosquitos out to feast on blood. I try to relish it because everything seems like it could be the last nowadays. I can't help but wonder every night, will I wake up again in the morning? Or was this the last sunset, the final meal, the last time I'll see my family, the last night of my life?
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When we go inside, we try to find things to do, as if delaying sleep pauses the prospect of death. We watch the news (though the only thing on right now is the rerun of the reports earlier) and play cards because we can't find anything more useful to do.
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We're on our fifth round of war when the screen of my iPhone lights up, and an alarm begins to go off, the type of alarm that makes your stomach churn and your heart bound into your throat at the sound of it.
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Alex reaches across me to grab my phone since the dread has me frozen in my spot, strewing the cards across the mattress and onto the carpeted floor.
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His face drains of all color, his skin an ailing gray as his eyes scan the alert.
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"Wh-what does it say?" I whisper, my voice shattering the dreadful silence.
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"They've issued an official nuclear warning for the entire west coast."
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I practically stop breathing right here and now.
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It's almost as if, though we've readied ourselves for this moment, waited for it even (though certainly not in anticipation), it still feels like an absolute nightmare, like it isn't real.
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"Are-are you serious...?"
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Stupid question, Kennedy; why wouldn't he be?
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He nods, fingers trembling as he sets my phone on the quilt.
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"What-what does that mean...?" I'm cut off when the tv starts blaring with the same statement as my phone.
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"Crap," Alex whispers, almost projecting himself to the floor when he stands up.
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"What do we do?" I join him, about to reach for the doorknob when it bolts open, exposing the face of my mother.
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"M-mom...?"
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"We're going to the basement." She commands, ghostly white hands pressing us through the door and in front of her toward the stairwell.
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"How's that going to do anything against a nuclear missile?"
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She doesn't answer my question, but I follow her anyway because I know that we are all devoid of any logical ideas, and she's just doing what she thinks is the best thing to protect us. So I listen.
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We hasten down the concrete flight of stairs to the cellar, joining my father, who hunkers on the floor, staring at the live broadcast on the screen of his phone.
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"What are they saying?" My mother asks, latching the door behind her and crouching beside my father to peer over his shoulder.
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"The Head of Security was just speaking, and he said they have substantial evidence pointing to a major nuclear attack on the US tonight." Even his voice quivers, though ever so slightly, as he speaks. And it's the expression of worry in my father that really alarms me; my father never reveals his fear.
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"Dear, Lord," my mother places a hand to her head and presses her eyes closed.
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My eyes dart to meet Alex's as something dawns on me.
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"Your family..."
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"It's too late," he shakes his head, defeat unmistakable in his stunning brown eyes. "They aren't going to let anybody out of their houses. And it's past curfew. My dad probably doesn't care anyway; you know how he is. He's probably dead drunk."
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I shoot him that look I always give him when he tries to suppress his feelings.
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He responds with a shrug.
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"I'd rather be here with you, Kennedy; you know that. You're my real family."
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I nod, reaching out to lace my shaky fingers with his because right now, I need his interminable resilience.
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He gives my hand a little squeeze, narrowing his eyes in on the newcast on the phone in my father's hand.
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The hours pass agonizingly slowly; every minute ticking by makes me wonder which will be my last; when will it all come to a stop?
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My father has his phone braced against the leg of an old armchair as we huddle around on the floor, a blanket spread over our legs and our weary eyes tacked to the screen.
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One of my hands remains clasped in Alex's, the sweat from my palm mingling with his. My other hand is encircled by both my mother's and father's hands; their grasp is a tight one, one loaded with trepidation and a weary crack at strength.
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I think we're all just terrified that if we let go, we let go of the final scrap of hope and love that we have left.
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"It is currently twenty minutes past midnight here on the west coast..." The governor is speaking now from the protection of his bunker. "We are still in the dark about the current situation. I advise everybody to remain indoors until advised otherwise. Do not leave your current location unless instructed by an official..."
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"He's said all this crap a million times," I fling up my hand and roll my eyes. Sometimes, the anxiety is too much, and I automatically resort to irritation. My final defense when displaying my fear is too tiring. "Why doesn't he tell us something important like, oh, I don't know! Are we all going to die tonight?!"
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My mother's fingers glide to my auburn hair and begin to smooth back the escaped pieces.
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"Kennedy, he doesn't know anything else," she whispers, eyes matching mine, promising that she understands without words. "He's just trying to tell people what he does know. He's trying to keep us all safe."
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"But, mom, there's nothing that can really keep us safe,"
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"I know,"
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Ten minutes pass, and you know when you're watching a movie, and there's that one moment, where everything is so absolutely still, and an instant later, something leaps out and startles you? That's how it feels right now. The eery hush is too flawlessly serene like the world has hesitated, holding its breath for the end.
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Just as expected, the silence is interrupted by a siren, muffled by the distance but still very distinctly there, declaring the end of the world.
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The hysteria building in my chest is explicit in Alex's eyes as I twist my head to glimpse his face.
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They wouldn't set the siren off unless they spotted something.
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This time, on the screen before us, the president materializes.
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"Our radars have spotted numerous missiles headed toward Los Angeles, San Francisco, and San Diego; surrounding areas will be impacted greatly..."
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The world swims before my eyes, and a strangled sound flees my lips.
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Alex wraps both arms firmly around me, his face pressing against my hair, his trembling breath heating my skin.
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"Estimated impact is around twelve forty-seven Am. Please remain in place..."
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Alex presses a kiss against my temple, his fingers pushing against my skin so hard that I'm sure he's leaving bruises. Not that it will matter in the end, anyway.
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My parents hold us both tight, their voices hushed and faces filled with failed hope, and grief emanating from the loss of the future.
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The minutes lug on slowly, while also insanely quickly at the same time.
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Every breath I take could be my last; every time I blink, I run the risk of my eyes never again opening. Every motion I make could be the last thing I do, and every tear I shed could be the last of my sorrow.
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"Twelve forty-five," my mother whispers, her voice quavering so hard that her remarks are nearly indistinguishable.
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My fingers locate Alex's cheeks, my eyes matching his, filled with tears hardly ever shed.
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"I love you..." I sob, my tears virtually gagging me as I press my body against his, and raise my hands to weave in his sandy hair. "Thank you for-for everything..."
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"Don't thank me," he whispers, voice carrying profound solemnity that I've never heard in him before. "I never would have made it if it weren't for you, Kennedy...I love you more than you will ever understand."
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"N-no..." His face muddies behind my tears, his features merging together. "I love you more, A-Alex..."
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"Forty-five seconds till impact," the president's voice trills in my ears.
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My parents press themselves close, skimming kisses to my head as we pledge a love that we've always known; A love soon to die.
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"I love you, Alex,"
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"I love you more, Kennedy,"
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His lips mash against mine, my fingers knotting in his hair, his pressing against my back, the kiss briny with tears.
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"Five..."
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He was my best friend, the person who valued me no matter what, even in the moments when I honestly didn't deserve him.
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"Four..."
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We spent every moment together; every optimistic thing in my life, every flawless instant, every immaculate day, involved him. He brought happiness into my life.
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"Three..."
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We had plans to get married out of college; in the field of daisies where he claimed he loved me. We'd purchase a tiny house, get the dog I've always wanted, have four kids, and grow old together...it would've been so perfect.
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"Two..."
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I shove my face into the crook of his neck and squeeze my eyes shut; I don't want to watch the world come to an end.
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"One..."
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A field of daisies is where he first told me he loved me. I'm there again, can practically feel the grass and flowers and delicate breeze; can nearly feel him next to me.
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I'm in his arms when the walls tumble, and the heat comes rushing in; I'm in his arms as the world caves in, crumbling my heart and future with it.
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