Fiction · G

The Clouds

Content Warning: Nothing here. Cleaner than a brand new paper towel.

The ships are floating over campus, linked by gaseous bridges. They look like clouds, but I’m sure they’re space ships. The “rain” is coming down steadily, and everyone has taken cover in their respective dorms. I think it might be some kind of liquid larval form of the aliens, so I am staying well away from it. The freshman girls across the quad are all just talking, acting as though it’s a normal Sunday. The “rain” has picked up considerably, meaning the aliens are desperate to plant their offspring in the human race.

I can see flashes in the distance, the signs of a space battle. The roar of their ion cannons comes seconds after the flash, and I think they’re about a mile and a half away. Who knows how long it will be before they stop fighting each other, and put all their efforts into obliterating Union University off the map.

“Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey is playing on the Bose speaker system, and I imagine it’s the last song I will hear. The flashes are coming faster now, and nearly everyone has gone inside. Maybe they’ve finally come to their senses and realized it’s the end of the world. I personally, have stopped believing. I’m going inside. If future forms of sentient life read this, remember me.

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