6.1) The Orphan's Sunrise [Part 2]

It was a quiet morning, two days after Abigail Kovacs had joined their small group at the end of the world. Things had gone as planned–they had gone urban camping on the apartment rooftop, with Abigail mostly remaining silent and watching the streets until she came up with an occasional clever remark.

Now, Mary blinked and stared at the light gently coming through the ceiling of the blue tent, wondering why she didn’t hear her alarm go off.

Then, she noticed that there was something heavy around her neck. After momentary confusion, she sighed, realizing what it was. It was Julian’s arm–he had put one arm around her neck as he gently snored with his face directly facing her.

She reached for her phone above her head, missed it twice, then managed to grab it on the third try. It was 6:15 AM, five minutes before her alarm rang. It seemed that Julian had awoken her prematurely.

“Ugh, Julian,” she mumbled, turning off the upcoming alarm and weakly pulling his arm off her body. He didn’t wake.

She pulled herself up straight, momentarily thinking to herself that she was the first one to awake–but she remembered that she wasn’t.

As she yawned, she put on her slippers and got up slowly, then unzipped the entrance of the tent, letting the cool air of the gray morning into the tent. And as she stepped out, she saw the familiar silhouette of a woman sitting on the plastic chair with her sword ever present by her side.

“Abigail,” Mary whispered gently. “I’m awake now. You can go to sleep. I’ll keep watch of the streets.”

Abigail shook her head, her forearms on the parapet. “No… just a little while longer.”

Mary objected. “You must be really tired. It’s not very healthy to stay awake for so long.”

Abigail spoke gently without turning her head. “Say, it’s almost time for the sunrise. Why don’t you take a plastic chair from over there and bring it here?”

Mary looked back, seeing the three plastic chairs that were surrounding a coffee table full of opened cans and bags of chips that were opened yet never finished. In the past, Atlas would be able to finish all that food, but he seemed to now have limits on how much he could eat.

She sighed, trying to ignore the waste and bringing the cleanest chair over and sitting down next to Abigail. She fought the urge to rest her legs on the parapet, trying not to embarrass herself in front of the older woman.

It was impossible to gauge how fast the sky was beginning to brighten, but about four minutes later, Mary could see the light of the Sun peek out from in-between the buildings.

Abigail spoke, her eyes now resting near the burning star. “Did you know? The energy produced by the Sun in a single second could power all of humanity’s technology for more than a million years.”

“I didn’t know that, no.” Mary bit her lip, strangely disappointed in herself.

“To us, the Sun seems eternal and all-powerful. So it’s unsurprising that countless people in the past have attempted to harness all that power, believing that it was the key to saving everyone. And believe it or not, Victor was one of these people.”

“Really? That guy?”

Abigail nodded. “But a few years later, when I asked him why he never followed through with the idea, he told me this: ‘the Sun’s energy isn’t infinite. Even the Sun will die. Then what will we do? There has to be something more.’ In retrospect, it makes sense why he pursued the power of infinity. He wanted a permanent solution to humanity’s problems.”

She sighed. “It was immature of him, in the long run. But he wasn’t wrong about one thing–even the Sun will die one day. In our case, it will die in a few weeks, if Victor does not return. And admittedly, there’s a good chance that he will not return. So...”

“So?” Mary asked, curious.

Abigail turned her gaze away from the street in a rare moment of compromise, then made eye contact.

“Don’t take the Sun for granted. Don’t take the moon for granted. Don’t take the sky for granted. It’s possible that everything will end soon. You should take your brother–or even Atlas–to go out and do things that truly matter to you. Don’t just stay here on this rooftop because I’m here, or because Atlas has nowhere else to be.”

Mary felt a slight chill go down her body, knowing that she and the others had been trying to ignore that the world could end in the next few weeks. But that was the point. They were doing what they wanted in spite of the apocalypse. That was the point. Or was it?

“... I don’t understand,” Mary said. “Why are you saying this?”

Abigail looked back down upon the streets. “You have a family, do you not? You should go see them–you should go see your parents.”

Mary sighed. “But… Do I really want to see my parents again?”

Abigail turned her head with a raised eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Mary looked down to the floor. “I don’t want them to see our worries, and I don’t want to know their worries. I don’t want to go back and see them–and realize they’re in the same situation as we are and are equally human and fragile. It’ll be impossible to pretend like everything is going to be okay... And it’ll be impossible to pretend like nothing has changed and that we’re all going to be fine. Because it’s not. Then we’ll all be depressed together. So, I think… it’d honestly be better if all of us stayed apart. I don’t want us all to be so vulnerable.”

Abigail crossed her arms. “I don’t think that’s the point of family, Mary.” She rubbed her lower lips with her knuckles. “Tell me–don’t you yell at your brother more than you do to others?”

“I guess so, yes.”

“That’s because you trust him enough to show that side of you–the sides of you that you are afraid to show to others. You yell at him because he can take it. So he can handle your vulnerability, too.”

Abigail softened her eyes. “And I think the only two people in the world that you can comfortably show your tears to are your parents. Because they’ve already seen you cry many, many times since your birth. And if you’re worried about seeing your parents in a bad state, I’m sure your parents have each other to lean on if they are feeling down. They’ll be strong–they’ll be alright.”

“... But I don’t want to leave you here, Abigail. And Atlas, too.”

“Every second counts, Mary. Look at the Sun again.”

Mary looked toward the Sun. It was the same sunrise.

“What about it?”

“Even as you weren’t looking, the Sun moved higher and higher, brightening the sky bit by bit. That is the effect of time–even if you aren’t paying attention, everything in the world progresses alongside the hands of the eternal clock.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Thank you,” Mary said with a sigh, feeling lectured. It wasn’t a very fun conversation to start the morning.

“All I’m saying is to spend your time effectively. Don’t just think about doing things that will make you happy; think about what matters to you. Take care of your brother. Take care of your family. You might come to regret it too late.”

“And you?” Mary asked.

“Me?”

“Do you want to go see your family? Is that why you’re saying this?”

Abigail laughed humorlessly. “Maybe. But I’m an orphan. I have nobody but Victor and his sister. And I can’t face his sister until I bring him safely back to her. So really, I have nowhere to be besides here. But you? You still have a family to return to.”

“... I guess I do,” Mary muttered under her breath.

Then, Abigail finally got up from the chair and walked to the green tent that they had lent her. And Mary sighed, still staring at the sunrise and trying to figure out what she should focus on during the remaining days of her life.

“And one more thing,” Abigail said from behind her.

“Yes?”

“You forgot to close your brother’s tent. Don’t let him catch a cold.”