Bright Lights, Big Sky

As the world winds down, beings from above intercede.

Original art by Brian Reindel

According to the National Weather Service, the total time it takes for Earth to spin on its axis has reached ninety-six hours and sixteen seconds. David tried to calculate the number of days lost to the cosmos as he stood in the electrical aisle of Home Depot, searching for a one hundred twenty-foot cord, disappointed to find all that remained were six-foot options. The absurdity of making the decision, considering the situation, left him dazed.

While Michigan gained a reputation for long, gray winters, nothing could compare to the added darkness and recent mix of rain, snow and sleet falling in mid-April. Seasons, as David knew them, eroded down to an ambiguous relic of a more comfortable age that belonged to shorter days. The move to a cozier climate evaporated as an option when his twins were born. Not that it would matter now, since most of the attractive, warm, coastal towns were under water up to ten miles inland.

Oceans engulfed coastal cities in the south, evidence that he should consider buying a boat instead of supplies for land dwellers. The experts predicted a dead stop would result in the oceans settling at the poles, leaving a large mass of land encircling the planet. For now, David decided to focus on the recent power outage and the need to keep the refrigerator running with a longer extension cord hooked to the generator.

He turned to ask an associate who stocked light bulbs, but could not grab his attention before a man holding a new sump pump approached. The customer engaged the associate in a broken-English conversation.

“Water in basement. This works, yes?” the man asked. The associate looked at the man, then the box and back to the man.

“Our return policy is ninety days with a receipt,” the associate said.

The man scrunched his eyebrows and shook his head ‘no’, confused by the answer, but unable to form a more coherent question.

“Water on floor. This works, please, yes?” he asked.

“I don’t know what your problem is, so I can’t say for sure. Is your sump pump broken?” the associate asked.

The man said nothing in response, clearly distraught, face drawn down, confused by universal matters out of his control. David put his hand on the man’s shoulder to get his attention.

“This works, yes,” David said.

The man smiled with a bright confidence illuminated by the brief interaction. He shook David’s hand, pointed at himself and by way of introduction said, “Andrei. Thank you.”

“David. You’re welcome.”

Andrei left and the associate shrugged his shoulders, customer service having dulled his ability to fully appreciate the state of the human condition given the circumstances.

David grabbed what remained of the extension cords, tossed them into a shopping cart and proceeded to checkout. At least a hundred people used a combination of self-checkout, one attended register and the customer service counter. Nobody returned items, a small sign of subconscious acceptance that the order of things would change just enough to make every item needed or useful.

People bantered in line, some argued, complained about the wait or tried to reconcile with the government’s assessment that Earth would eventually stop spinning. An earthquake brought the noise to a stop, which induced a cacophony of frightful gasps and a couple of screams. For fifteen seconds the building shook, items fell from their shelves and after it finished the computer systems crashed. A manager who stood nearby inspected a few of the registers as the lights flickered in the building.

“I’m sorry folks, I don’t think these will be back online any time soon,” the manager shouted.

People groaned. A lone customer, assured there would be no repercussions, began to leave the store without paying.

“Hey! Stop! I’m going to call security,” the manager said.

“What’s the point of paying? In another month this building won’t even exist,” the shoplifter said.

Other shoplifting sheep followed and the manager held her head down like a shepherd ashamed of the flock.

David walked past and looked at her nametag.

“Hey, Elisa, you did good today. You managed the chaos as best you could. Go home to your family,” David said.

A few customers echoed his sentiment and Elisa’s disposition changed, resigned to leave her post, no longer the leader of a group destined to follow no one.

As David left the store, the lights shut off, the light posts in the parking lot went dark, and in the distance the street lights malfunctioned. The faint sound of screeching tires and the crunching of metal on metal could be heard. Every single person in the parking lot froze in place, eyes to the sky above as a series of assorted crafts instantly appeared, all with intricate lighted displays. Colorful flashing lights reflected off large, descending snowflakes. A woman ran past, hopped into her car and attempted to start it. Nothing. A few others tried the same. Nothing. 

A deep boom, followed by rumbling thunder echoed off the building. Cars rattled and shifted in their parking spaces. A few of them moved in different directions by an invisible force, pulled and dragged like little rag dolls. David felt the hair on his arms and his head prickle from the static electricity that flowed through the air. More craft joined in the display and together they hummed a perfect pitch that rattled the windows of the store, then blew them to pieces. This sent people running in different directions, all except Andrei, who stood close to David and said, “Bright lights, big sky.”

David pulled an AM/FM radio out of his shopping cart, tore open the box, then realized he had no batteries.

“This works, yes?” Andrei asked.

Andrei held a few boxes of various sized batteries. David took a case of D-cells, opened them up and inserted them into the radio and flipped to AM 760. He turned up the volume as the host provided an update:

We’ve received an update from the National Weather Service, as relayed through the Oval Office, that extraterrestrial craft, which number in the hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, have encircled the globe. Together, they’re using an unidentified force to reintroduce the previous momentum and stabilize our rotation. Scientists have already indicated the Earth is back to a twenty-four hour daily cycle with a level of precision they’ve never witnessed before.

David smiled at Andrei, who pointed his finger up in the air.

“Friends?” Andrei asked.

“Friends,” David said.

The humming continued and David didn’t bother to check if his car would start. He pushed his shopping cart toward home. In less than two miles he would arrive on foot while a multitude of cosmic angels kept watch. The world would return to its pre-established cadence, but it would never be the same.