Where the Sky Turns Violet

Written by: Jakin (25-I5)

Designed by: Giselle (25-E3)

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The sky turns dark. Our footsteps hasten, her grip strengthens. Fading sunlight streams in through the rose-tinted windows, illuminating the abandoned terminal with an eerie magenta hue. It’s a pretty look for the end of the world.

Emma is clinging to my right arm for dear life, her face white and her eyes trembling with fear. I wish I could explain to her that I feel the same way. It's an overwhelming blend of terror and determination, this burden of being her protector. I can’t let her see the flicker of doubt in my heart, or the fear that whispers we're hanging by a thread.

Throughout the week, the weather had grown more extreme, swinging from thunderous rain to scorching heat. Travel of any kind was arduous, and the harsh conditions had claimed many victims. Getting here early was a blessing. With both tickets firmly in my possession, all we’ve had to do is lie low and wait.

Until now.

For our sake, I must keep moving. For my broken body, every movement is a pain. I try not to think about it, funnelling my energy into getting one foot in front of the other.

The plane should be taking off at 7 sharp, and my watch reads 6.58. Time is impossibly tight; every second is slipping away.

I spot the plane through the terminal windows. Between us, there’s only a metal gate and a stretch of open ground. Digging into my sling bag, I pull out the wirecutter. My hands shake as I find a spot and begin snipping away at the wire mesh, steadily creating an opening.

I’ve done this so many times, I could do it in my sleep.

It’s ironic that I wasn’t much of a survivalist before this nightmare started, given the statistics. One of a few hundred thousand that remain, and one of ten thousand who’ve secured a ticket off the planet. I credit my survival to strategic planning and a whole lot of luck.

I make light work of the gate, tearing up a human-sized hole in the middle. My watch beeps once, signalling it’s 6.59.

The next minute will seal our fate.

We’re about 200 meters away. I grip Emma’s forearm and force my legs to sprint, much to Emma’s dismay. Pain burns in my lungs. Days without food have left me dizzy, and I stagger, close to collapsing. Failure is not an option. We’re dead if we miss this flight.

The line of passengers boarding the plane is rapidly shrinking, and I don’t expect them to wait much longer. Sympathy isn’t high on anybody’s priority list.

We’re almost there, and for a second, I can taste it. The two of us, securing our future in the stars. It’s within reach.

And then I trip.

It happens in slow motion. For a brief moment, a serene silence envelops everything, and I’m aware of the sight of hard concrete ground.

The sudden impact shoots a jolt of excruciating pain through me, leaving my face numb and my ears ringing. I taste blood, and the pain overwhelms me.

The muffled sound of approaching footsteps is the last thing my mind registers before my world completely fades into darkness.

….

Floating. I feel like I am floating through space and time, in a space where reality does not exist. In the hours I spend in this state, memories flow unbidden through my mind, filling my brain with images from my past. Photos from my wedding day. My mother’s funeral. Emma as a baby. They come and go in fleeting moments, without any rhyme or reason. Yet somehow, I feel oddly comforted by it all.

A small voice whispers to me that seeing this must mean I’m somehow alive. How - and where - I have no idea, but I’m content not pushing for any answers. The way things are, this seems like the best place to be.

….

Agony. I awake to nothing but sheer agony. Terrible, searing pain down my legs leaves them paralysed to the floor, and my head is throbbing so much it feels like it's about to explode. I force myself to breathe slowly and steadily.

Oh, bring me back to the bliss of unconsciousness.

I feel several taps on my shoulder as my vision consolidates. The fuzzy silhouette of a woman is looking straight at me, concerned. She’s talking directly to me, but I can only make out muffled noises.

My brain struggles to comprehend reality. What’s going on? Who is this? The woman pauses, then puts a bottle of water to my lips. I drink ravenously.

I can hear a few words now. She’s saying something about a rocket and tickets, and before long, everything comes flooding back. We were going to the Washington launch site, where the last of the five rockets will depart for Mars at midnight. The Earth is in its final hours.

Emma. It suddenly occurs to me that Emma is not with me. As reality starts to take shape, I plead with the woman in front of me for answers.

“Emma. Please. My daughter, have you seen my daughter?” My voice comes out hoarse and rough.

“Yes. She’s with the others at the lower deck,” she answers calmly, slowly helping me up,

“Come on.”

The woman has long blonde hair and a certain quality of warmth to her features. She takes my arm and helps me hobble toward the front of the plane.

“I stayed with you while you were out. Don’t worry, everything’s still inside your pouch.”

“Thank you…what’s your name?” I ask.

“Natalie. My husband and I got you two on the plane - we narrowly made it on board,” she replies with a smile, “You’re okay now.”

Her eyes are a soft shade of hazel, rimmed with deep eye bags. Like everyone else on this plane, I can tell she’s seen too much.

“Why...help us?” I ask. My eyes dart around the cabin, mapping out the quickest escape routes. As much as I’d love to, I don’t trust it. I don’t trust her. Paranoia pervades the minds of everyone who remains; it’s how we made it this far. The people we pass all look at us the same way - with deep mistrust and suspicion of bad intent in their eyes. Most people have their bags clutched tightly in their arms, looking back at me fiercely.

I get it. Every day since the nuclear winter has been a fight for survival. Nobody made it this far without looking out for themselves.

My mind is racing, analysing what she could possibly want from me. If it were tickets, she could have easily grabbed them when I was unconscious. Or taken it from my pouch and left me on the runway. And why’d she give me water?

Perhaps she needs information. But what kind of information could she possibly need?

Natalie lets out a small laugh.

“Our selfishness is what got us here,” she replies, looking me in the eye. I can’t help but feel she’s somehow read my thoughts. “Not all of us are getting off this rock. The least we can do is help make it bearable."

Her firmness has a way of convincing me she’s telling the truth. I decide to brush my trust issues aside, but not fully. Just in case.

After descending some steps, we enter a large cargo hold where bodies are strewn all over the floor. Most people here look hopeless and semi-conscious, their eyes largely devoid of life.

“There. My husband and your daughter.” Natalie points me toward the end of the cargo hold. I spot the two of them sitting peacefully, and a wave of relief washes over me.

“I...” I turn to thank her, but I can barely let out a sound before the plane makes a nosedive.

I’m thrown off my feet instantly, crashing into the ground and into a crowd of people. The plane is spinning left and right, and the sound of human panic floods the previously solemn atmosphere. The space is filled with the plane rattling, the ear-splitting screams of children, and the terrifying sound of objects falling. They sound dangerously close to me. I need to focus. Is Emma safe? Where is she?

“We’ve gotta move!” Natalie yells at me from my right, dragging my arm towards the upper deck.

The plane’s movement is stabilising while still continuing its rapid descent. People and objects are flashing past me as I stumble past, and all I can make out are screams and violent voices. A loud commotion breaks out from behind me, and it doesn’t sound good. I force myself to ignore it. Find Emma.

My eyes dart over the faces crowding the hold. Emma’s not among them. Panic wells up inside me—a cold, sharp terror spreading through my chest. What if she’s been hurt? What if I lose her?

And then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of my daughter screaming, coming from the commotion's source. My head snaps toward the direction of the sound, and my legs seem to develop a mind of their own. I let go of Natalie, and despite the torturous pain in my legs, I find myself drunkenly pushing through the sea of people gathered in the commotion.

“Josh, he’s got tickets!” a deep voice from within bellows. Several heads turn toward the voice, and more shouting ensues.

“Marauders!” someone else screams.

The word hangs in the air, heavy and poisonous. Marauders are never a good sign. It’s about to go down.

On cue, gunshots crack through the air like thunder, and all hell breaks loose.

The screaming amplifies to deafening proportions, and violence erupts. Punches are being thrown. People are being shoved about. The plane is falling out of the sky faster, red lights flashing and alarms blaring.

Everyone on the plane has been reduced to savages. I try my utmost best to dodge the chaos and find Emma.

One thing is clear: not everyone on this flight has a ticket. I have two, and I’m not planning on giving either up.

I can barely begin calling for Emma’s name when a punch lands squarely on my right cheek, and a body comes crashing down on me. The pain is searing, and I’m thrown hard onto the ground.

Within seconds, I feel blows raining down on me, and I lift my arms futilely to defend against the blows. I can do nothing but close my eyes and brace myself for the pain. It’s a terrible, helpless feeling.

Then the punches stop. For a second, I think he’s been attacked, and I open my eyes cautiously.

His eyes are firmly on my pouch, his animalistic expression distorting into a prideful smirk. Swiftly, he unzips the pouch and snatches its contents.

He’s long gone by the time I steady myself back up, my heart pounding and my mouth bloodied. It’s no use chasing after him - I won’t catch him, and I can’t beat him. I’ve gotta find Emma and get out of here. We’ll worry about the tickets later.

I hear it again - a shrill, unmistakable cry from my right - and I know it’s her. Through the mess of human bodies, I spot her flailing self in the corner, and I waste no time covering ground. I find myself calling out her name over and over, as if it will ensure we never stay apart again.

Emma spots me, then sprints into my embrace and holds on tightly. At that moment, the world around me blurs, and nothing matters anymore. Chaos, violence, life, death— I just want to hold her forever, tell her everything will be okay, and never let go.

….

The next couple of hours were a blur. We had snaked our way back up into the upper deck, where Natalie and her husband were. Armed guards secured the entrance, keeping the violence contained below. We found a comfortable spot at the back, and there we sat, in desperate need of rest. I sat facing the window as we touched down, marvelling at the beauty of the serene purple sky. I held Emma in my embrace for the rest of the journey, telling her she was okay, and never wanting to let go again.

By the time we reached the launch site, it was three hours to midnight. Dozens of officers were immediately on the scene, evacuating those with golden tickets toward the launch site.

Of course, I hadn’t been so naive as to place both tickets in the same place.

My other ticket, which lay deep in my inner jacket pocket, is now in Emma's hands as she follows Natalie to the launch site. I tried my best to smile, remain strong, and tell her I would see her again someday. Heart pounding, I watched as she clutched her ticket tightly in her tiny fists and was escorted off the plane. Trembling, I waved, again and again and again and again through the plane windows, failing to stifle those troublesome and incessant tears that won’t stop, all while she glanced at me, that expression of hope now mixed with confusion at my not departing with her.

It’s a weird feeling. My heart aches knowing I won’t be there for her. Yet somehow, I feel a wave of peace wash over me. She would see the stars. She would live the life we couldn’t. She would live our lives for us. And maybe that’s enough for me.