The Cold Spot Where You Were And Were Not

Roughly 380,000 new lives begin every day. When scaling to the population of eight billion known souls, that means the average birthday is shared between millions, or even tens of millions. Before The Calamity, March 13th would have been just another birthday, where so many souls would have gathered in celebration and reflection of life. But that year, March 13th carried a new, cataclysmic weight.

Scientific theories had formulated the potential date for The Calamity’s complete engulfing of the world, and the projected date was March 13th the next year. Just a little over halfway through that month, a year from then, everything would end.

March 13th would be known as the Final Day.

It was also Kageyama Kureha’s birthday.

While she had no way of knowing what the next March 13th would hold, or if she’d even see that date, she knew that at that moment, since her father was still going into the office, she was alone.

Her house’s kitchen was still and full of dishes yet to be washed. Nearby in the living room, the old television presented unseen images and muted voices. Faint blue flickers danced on the walls, reminding Kureha that there was a news broadcast she was supposed to be watching. Overhead lights were off. Only the counter’s under-cabinet lights were active, allowing the space to have a soft, ambient warmth as she once again raised the santoku blade to her wrist.

It had become a habit in the weeks that followed the global acceptance that The Bitter End was seemingly inescapable. If none of this mattered, Kureha found herself wondering if spending another day alive was worth it. So, night after night, she went into the kitchen, found the sharpened knife she used to cut vegetables and beef, and held it in judgement against her wrist.

There was no grandiose debate, or complex justification. Each time the cold steel greeted her pale skin, it felt no different to Kureha than her deciding which shirt she would wear that day.

There was a pause, and Kureha considered her choice in reality or oblivion. Between the inhale and exhale, she decided it was worth existing through another sunrise. Once more, the blade lowered.

With that, Kureha simply returned to the task of planning what to do for her birthday dinner. As she debated what food options to consider, she unmuted the television.

Supply chains were already being interrupted so delicacies like food variety had begun to fade. The Prime Minister was about to commit seppuku on live television. Maybe she would just have some instant noodles. Would The Bitter End hurt?

Moving from the kitchen to the living room caused Kureha to step through THAT spot. Even after all this time, she still felt the cold chill spike against her skin as she moved through those few wretched inches.

Maybe her mom had known this was coming. Maybe she’d seen it in a dream all those years ago and decided it was better to die back then instead of waiting for the inevitable. No matter why she did it, she left behind a cold patch in the transition between rooms, and a slightly sagging support beam that Kureha had learned to ignore.

Kureha’s mind returned to the broadcast.

The aged politician was kneeling onto the ground, shamefully admitting their shortcomings for how the months before The Calamity’s arrival were handled. Their shirt was already unbuttoned. None of it mattered. Kureha sighed an empty exhale as she chuckled to herself.

“Well, if you need to borrow a knife, I have one you can use,” she said to the broadcast.

Another man stepped behind the politician, sword in hand. Kureha’s phone buzzed but her gaze stayed on the screen.

They shouted one last indiscernible statement, then plunged a small blade into his stomach. There was a horrified scream as they struggled to twist the edge to tear across their organs. Everything was blurred, but the sounds were clear. 

Wailing cries sounded like forks being pulled across teeth. Then the sword came down, and their head was removed in a flash of pixelated red.

“Hm,” was all Kureha could mutter as she watched without any remorse or emotional feedback.

After watching two billion people vanish in a matter of weeks, all while wrestling with the acknowledgments of everything else, seeing one miserable old bureaucrat off themselves didn't really carry any weight. 

Seconds of pause allowed her to confirm that nothing changed. The act did not stop The Calamity, so Kureha didn’t forgive them or any of the other leaders who had so clearly failed. As she placed her knife into its holder, she checked her phone to see what the ping had been from.

It was a message from her neighbor and friend, Riku.

“Are you home? Your house is dark.” Riku’s message read.

There was an emoji of binoculars that followed the text.

“Yep, I’m here in the living room. What’s up?” Kureha replied.

The group chat had once been active every day. Especially when Kai moved away. It had been the way all of them could stay connected. But as the years passed and life’s bitter melancholy pulled Kureha further into herself, she found it harder to engage. Now, it was sparse, with the only message before these coming weeks ago when The Calamity was first formed.

Sincere, kind messages asked if everyone was okay, then faded into silence once more.

Kureha’s mind wandered as Riku typed his response. Her thoughts were chaotic once again as she focused on the veil of reality tearing like paper in a shredder while billions screamed. Would there be screams? Would there be cheers? Would they even notice? Would annihilation and abyss welcome them in a swift and unseen silence?

The windowsill allowed her to watch the stars that would one day vanish. Would mankind and all creatures great and small even notice as they were all erased? Was a life without a future a life worth celebrating? She'd miss the spicy noodles from Korea. The darkness wouldn't reach Arashiyama for several months.

The Calamity’s rip was not visible from the Hokkaido region, so Kureha had never seen it, but from what she heard, in regions where it was visible, the sun and moon would move behind it as though it was an obelisk in the sky that blocked all light.

Kureha wanted to see It with her own eyes. This expanding representation of doom was visible only 2,300 kilometers away, and she could not help but desire to make some sort of perverted pilgrimage to Fukuoka to bear witness. Even if it reached Honshu soon and continued it's uneven spread across the sky, so wanted to go to the origin point.

As she sat there mulling over the concept of making her way to Fukuoka, her doorbell rang. Kureha slid from the windowsill’s perch and made her way to the door, unsure who the guest could be.

When the door opened, she was shocked to see five guests at her door, all of whom she knew. Beyond knowing them, they had been her closest friends for nearly fifteen years.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” they all cheered as they threw confetti in the air and blew into celebratory horns.

It was subtle, but Kurega couldn't help but smile as colorful pieces of tissue paper settled on her head and her mind moved away from The Calamity for the briefest of moments.