It's said that the day that people began floating was the end of the world.
No nuclear bombs blow up. The skies were empty of extraterrestrial ships. No government cover-up or nuclear winter.
In the middle of math class, a boy in New York was screaming while hovering three feet off the ground.
Then a second Mexican girl caught fire.
In London, a man blinked and disappeared.
In Cairo, a child's voice caused someone to forget their name.
It happened at random. Scary. Gorgeous.
It was dubbed the Great Awakening by the press.
Myself?
I refer to it as the day everything went wrong.
Because I lost a loved one when it came to me.
I've been caught between trying to forget and trying to live ever since.
The Night Everything Broke
It continued to rain.
Von was sitting with his knees tucked into his chest, earbuds in, music blasting, on the edge of his bed—anything to block out the yelling coming from downstairs.
It wasn't functioning.
His father's slurred, irate, and unrelenting voice roared through the walls. As usual, the same phrases: weak, useless, and similar to your mother.
Von closed his eyes tightly. The pounding in his head had distorted the music, making it sound like static in his ears.
This was a house he detested.
Being trapped in it made him despise himself.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — -
A CRASH.
The glass broke.
Von winced. Just in time to hear his mother's soft but strained voice, he yanked out his earbuds.
She was always trying. Even though she appeared worn out. Even when she most likely wanted to scream.
His heart pounding, he stood up. Something didn't feel right. The room was buzzing. As if his skin were crawling with static. His fingers shook.
"Mum?"
No response.
One more crash. A shout.
He took off running.
As he slid into the doorway, the lights in the kitchen flickered.
Between him and his father was his mother. She extended her arms. She shook her voice.
In one hand, his father held an empty bottle. The other was balled into a fist.
He appeared poised to strike.
Von was not thinking.
He simply sensed it.
And something snapped inside of him.
Like a dam breaking, the pressure exploded out of his chest.
Around him, the air rippled. Plates were removed from the counter. The table rose inches off the floor and slid sideways, screeching. His mother's hair even fluttered, as if it were caught in an imaginary wind.
Before Von knew what he was doing, his hands were outstretched.
With wide eyes, his father staggered back. "What the hell—?!"
His mother called out in surprise, "Von!"
Von, however, was unable to stop.
He had a throbbing headache. His nose was bleeding.
Then—
Above them, the ceiling fan tore free.
Time slowed.
Von watched the bolts fly.
He watched the fan go down.
His mother turned, and his eyes widened.
He extended his hand—
Too slow.
BANG.
It was a loud crash. Then there was quiet.
Then—
Blood, sirens, and screams.
Later on...
The medical professionals referred to it as a "tragic accident."
For days, his father remained silent.
It wasn't words when he did.
Only a fist.
Next, another bottle.
Then there was silence once more.
Von kept the truth to himself.
He doubted that they would accept his story.
Even worse, he wasn't certain he was worthy of being taken seriously.