[ WP ] It 's early in the morning and you reluctantly walk out the door to go to work . Scattered in the streets are hundreds of people standing out in the open , staring at the sky .

Aaron always said that seeing was believing. He was obsessed with the corporeal; science driven and basing his life not on feelings but on *facts*. I suppose there was some truth to what he thought, he had after all achieved his lifelong dream of becoming an engineer ( an odd dream for a four year old, yet he stuck with it ). He had a way of seeing the true nature of things, not their being, but their mechanical strengths and flaws. One time, when his car broke down in high school, he *insisted* that we work on it instead of taking it to the mechanic. He complained about the pricing, stating that if he wanted to be fucked in the ass, he ’ d just call his Uncle Rick up for a home visit. 
 
 He didn ’ t have an Uncle Rick—that was just Aaron ’ s sense of humor. Not on the edge of inappropriateness, but inappropriate all together. 
 
 “ That ’ s great and all, ” I said, “ but you and I don ’ t know fuck-all about cars. ” 
 
 But he pressed the issue and instead of spending the summer at the beach and ( or ) chasing after girls, we put in hours a day completely replacing the engine on a 1996 Ford Escort. A complete waste of time, really, I ‘ ve never seen a more perfect example of turd polishing. But there was something unexplainable, something along the lines of perfect happiness, or Zen or whatever that Buddhist shit is, I felt when he turned the key and that car started right up. 
 
 “ Purrs like a dying cat, don ’ t it? ” he called from inside the car. 
 
 That ’ s just how Aaron worked. He ’ d figure it out or die in the process. He had an obsessive streak great at systemically repairing a car, and destroying a relationship with a girlfriend all at the same time. 
 
 But things that day changed. There was the Aaron I knew before, the calculating, *brilliant* asshole. The one who took what the world gave him and looked for more instead of being thankful for what he had. When I ’ d watch him working on that car, or when he was studying for his GRE, I knew he ’ d be wildly successful someday. I had no dreams or aspirations for myself, but with his motivation and a drive, I had no doubt he ’ d become CEO, or successful engineer, or whatever he wanted. 
 
 The sky that day had been filled with a maddening melody I ’ d never before heard. It was like something from a science fiction movie, the sound ’ s seemed to have no source, I felt like it permeated from everything and not just one thing, of course due to the hundreds of buildings in the city: the sound simply echoed off of everything. The tune was like from a long forgotten dream, a movie from my childhood, or some deep recess of my mind. I knew it -- *knew it* -- but couldn ’ t quite put my finger on where I knew it from. Even now, I ’ m not sure how I knew it, all I knew was that I did. I can ’ t even whistle it, now. Can ’ t recall its fluttering crescendos or decrescendos, its twirls or pops or legato connectedness. 
 
 We hadn ’ t know it was coming, a blackout had swept the city and left the military virtually blind. Then I had thought it was simply a random event, but now I know better. 
 
 As the intoxicating hum grew louder, I realized I wasn ’ t the only one that heard it. The streets began to fill with people. All looking at the horizon, at the sky, looking everywhere; their curiosity smothering the screaming pleas of their body ’ s survival instinct. We all knew what was happening outside the city, out in the real world beyond the strong walls of the Party ’ s barricade, but none of that seemed to matter now. 
 
 I walked outside as well, creeping down the sidewalk of the apartment complex to the opening in the road, mindlessly following the horde of people who followed the rest like a pack of lemmings. All our heads craning up to look at the sky. 
 
 Something gripped my arm, the suddenness of it shook me, took me out of the daydream and back to reality. It was Aaron. 
 
 “ What the hell, man… ” I said sleepily. “ I just wanna— “ 
 
 “ Get outta the fuckin ’ road— “ 
 
 Who did he think he was? I knocked his arm back and took a step away from him. “ Buzz off, I wan na see what all the commotion is. ” When I turned back to walk towards the road, towards that beautiful melody, that serenading song of splendor, when I felt him grab my arm again. This time harder. 
 
 “ Ow, *fuck*— “ 
 
 “ This is no joke, we have to go. You don ’ t understand what ’ s happening. ” When I didn ’ t move one way or another, he took another step forward. “ I ’ m sorry for this. ” 
 
 “ For wh— “ but before I could say anything there was a flash of light, blinding whiteness, then a flash of pain at the side of my head. I would have be upset, *incredulous*, with him striking me, but I was still composing myself when the second blow came through, this time striking me on the other temple. 
 
 He threw me over his shoulder and carried me back towards the complex, with labored but purposeful steps. I came to a few seconds after, shaking away my blurred, underwater vision. I looked up from over his shoulder and spied the dozens of people standing erect in the road, like pillars of salt witnessing some forbidden act: knowing they should avert their gaze, yet unable to tear their eyes away. 
 
 Then, as if hearing my own thoughts, the world seemed to explode. First my eyes, a flash of light, blinding in its own right, imprinting an image of the world when I opened and closed them. The sun had been replaced with a billion fluorescent lights, casting its pale, sickly glow over the world, shining so brightly shadows ceased to exist for a fraction of a second. 
 
 Then the blast, erupting from the road, a shockwave of force and heat came up upon me like an invisible fist punching me in the face. I could feel myself and Aaron falling – thrown – towards the ground. 
 
 Finally, the sound. The overwhelming roar of the blast ’ s cacophony of noises, someone had set the dial to 11, then said fuck it cranked it up somewhere near 11 or 12 thousand. It felt like my ears were going to explode. 
 
 When I came to, sound had been replaced with a dullness of a windtunnel. I couldn ’ t make out anything, just the whirs of my own ears screaming in pain. I blinked rapidly a few times and tried to move. There was debris, bricks, rocks, dirt, and the drywall of a house on me. 
 
 In a stupor I crawled out, calling out to Aaron but not hearing myself do so. I couldn ’ t tell if I was actually saying it, or if I was thinking it. 
 
 “ Aaron! ” I finally made out, through the airplane roar in my ears. “ Aaron, where are you?! ” 
 
 I heard a groan from behind me, and found him under a similar pile of household debris. Weak on my own knees, and astonished at just how tired I felt, I started to dig him out. 
 
 “ What the hell was that? ” I asked. 
 
 “ It ’ s Them, ” he said without pause. I didn ’ t have to ask who “ Them ” was. The word alone answered all of my questions. 
 
 “ Come on, we ’ ve got to get out of here. Find Security. ” I lifted him up and added rather suddenly, “ How did you know about the music? ” 
 
 “ I dunno, ” he said, he looked so *tired. * “ A hunch I guess. ” 
 
 He put his arm around my shoulder and we hobbled out of the wreckage of the building, towards what we believed to be the Security office. Though, from the looks of the rest of the city, it was probably decimated as well. 
 
 “ Jesus, it ’ s like an atomic bomb went off. ” 
 
 The landscape was baron, save for the twisted remains of mankind. Not a soul screamed, not a person stumbled out of a building like a shambler from a campfire story. We were remarkably alone, and the silence was deafening. I waited for a sarcastic quip from Aaron, or some explanation as to what was happening; waiting for him to make a command or tell me what the plan was. 
 
 But he said nothing. His calculating, always-on mind and mouth were, for once in our lives, silent. 

