How cold could it get during the summer? I knew that it depended on the location, but even in a place like Seattle, it should rarely go below 50. When I woke up that night, I could spot icicles forming under the overhang of my bedroom window. I must have woken up really early, because it was still dark out and the streetlights were on. Small specs of white blew across the glass, the wind was so strong that I could hear it from inside. Lastly, there were people's voices, they were shouting, I think. Another strong wind pushed against the house, rattling my bookshelf. That's weird.
For a reason I can't seem to remember, I got up, put on my shoes, and despite it being in the middle of summer, I left the house in my coat and boots. Clouds were hiding the moon, and instead of the forecasted rainfall it was snowing. The snow hadn't even made it to an inch off the ground, so it must have just started. Oh, but how were there icicles? Could they even form that fast? That's strange.
There was yelling, lots of yelling, but I kept walking. Even though the streetlights were on, the snow made it so that I could barely see five feet ahead of me. I knew the layout of the block, so making my way towards the commotion wasn't too difficult, but I couldn't have seen the person coming my way until he bumped into me, knocking us both to the ground. He too was yelling. What was it again?
That's right, 'stay away,' he yelled, then he got up and ran. His footsteps and voice disappeared into the snow, but… something flew by? It was thin and long, and followed the path the man was running in. Then there was a crunch, the kind of sound you'd get from biting into a piece of hard candy, except twice as loud. I turned to see where the object came from, but all I saw was another man. He was wearing this large winter coat that had a fur lined collar, jewelry hung from his neck, and metallic pieces were attached to other parts of the outfit. Could he have been royalty? I remembered reading books about this sort of thing. His hair came down to his shoulders and was a color that blended in with the falling snow. In his right hand was a thin and long silver object, but not as thin as what I saw fly towards the other man. I believe it was called a 'lance.' He couldn't have been any shorter than 7ft tall, and his 'lance' was about the length of a pickup truck. What I was seeing couldn't have been real, but the soft steps moving towards me begged otherwise. It's really cold, really.
I didn't run. Was it because I didn't trust what I saw? Was I not scared? Was it the hair? Long, flowing hair as white as the snow around us, as white as my own. The man came closer and closer, until I could see his smooth, greyed skin was illuminated by the streetlights. I couldn't help but find that face strangely beautiful. His gaze wasn't fixated on me, or anyone, or anything. Just forward, a force of nature that was without concern for what would lay ruined in its path. Do I know, or do I not… I can't seem to remember.
"Morgan!"
Suddenly, a familiar voice called my name. Then, she pulled me? No, I must have been pushed, because the person who called out to me wasn't there to catch me when my head hit the ground. Another crunch came from where I was pushed, and something small and metallic fell to the concrete. Then red, lots of it. Red, red, and more red fell in front of my eyes.
"A-Ah…" Strained sounds left my mouth.
My head hurt. I wanted to go back to sleep, but I couldn't, the pain was too much. Instead, I turned my gaze skyward and saw that the clouds were no longer covering the moon. There was a hole, and from it cracks that seemed to branch as if a nail were driven into it and hit with a hammer. It was broken. Can the moon be broken?
Looking at it made the pain worse, so I forced myself to my feet and looked for the woman who called my name. On the snow covered street, there was no one left but the grey man, the rapid snowfall had already begun to blow away the red mist that lingered in the air. The man's back was turned, he had already begun walking away. Was I mistaken?
Everything happened so fast that I don't think I could believe what I was seeing. I blinked once, then twice, but nothing changed. Oh, no, something did. Black lines, similar to the ones on the moon, covered the street, the homes, and the grey man. It's falling apart.
There was a small metal object, a knife, lying where the man once stood. Did someone drop it? It had a black and maroon metallic hilt, like one of the knives that was stored under my mother's bed. So why was it lying in the red-stained snow? Of course, that was because whoever tried to use it never managed to reach its target. Who was it again? Right, it was…
There was someone who explained to me what they were. I looked to the pulsating lines, then the knife, then back to the lines. They were speaking to me, telling me what needed to be done. Someone like that man should not be allowed to exist. 'When you see it, cut it all,' right?
I picked up the knife, and ran after him. There was only one thing I wanted to do at the moment. Cut it all. The falling snow muffled the sound of my footsteps. Cut it all. I tightened my grip, and ran faster. Cut it. And faster. Cut it. Faster. Cut it.
Tear it apart. Everything. Return it to zero, nothing, the end. That's what mother told me. Just as I had positioned myself to slash at the line going from his lower-left back to just under his armpit, he finally turned around. 'The world will try to resist,' she said.
He tried to backhand me with his left hand, his lance was too heavy to swing that fast I suppose, but I released my wind up early to slash just above his elbow. The knife tore through the sleeve of the coat and the skin beneath with no resistance, like cutting through water. The greater part of his left arm fell to the snow, disintegrating in a black mist that was an identical shade to the lines. The pain, it's still here.
The grey man wasted no time thrusting his lance towards me. He was fast, too fast. Maybe if I was faster, I could have traced the line from the frosted tip of the lance to the end of its cone, but I was only a child. Time slowed as it nearly plunged into my right eye, and I managed to get a better, more detailed look at the grey man. His eyes were an ethereal light blue, unlike when he first approached me, there was a mix of rage and disgust. He grit his shark-like teeth, and mouthed as if he was cursing me. Something was bothering him, something that shouldn't exist stood in front of him. I shouldn't exist? So what will happen next is deserved then…
"Ho~ you did quite well, but you should leave stuff like this to the grown ups," The voice of a woman I didn't recognize.
Before I knew it, there was a flash of blue, a woman in a black suit I didn't know had whisked me away from the street, far away from the reach of the grey man's spear. When she stopped about 20 meters down the street, her blue hair flew into my face and some kind of soft fragrance washed over me. The man hadn't moved from his position, I would say he was as surprised as I was, but the expression on his face went back to that emotionless stare. Like all of the rage I had witnessed before was just my imagination.
"White hair… and that knife…? What a coincidence! I heard that woman settled down out here, where is your…oh," the woman looked back to the street, then sighed, "…At least she finally got her priorities straight. Unfortunate that it had to be once that world finally caught up to her."
What was she going on about again? I'm not sure, but I remember what she said next. She turned back to me with a calming smile on her face, one that betrayed the true nature of her question.
"Tell me, if you could see the end of the world, what would you do?"
I didn't understand a word she said, I couldn't have. Still, the woman looked me in the eye and asked anyway. Maybe she already knew what I would say.
What does the end of the world look like?
"Ah, just like her, answering a question with a question. A frustrating, yet admirable boldness. To answer your question in the same vein, you tell me."
…How do you–
"Sorry, hold that thought!"
The woman pulled a black rod from her jacket, and flipped a switch that revealed a 6 inch blade that betrayed the rod's size. Then, another flash of blue, lightning, I think it was. Clashing metal, and before long, silence. The blue haired woman walked back to me at a leisurely pace. Another click, and the blade retracted into the rod.
"Now… what were… we saying?" the young woman continued.
. . .I–
"Ah… forget it, I'm tired. Let's get a move on," she said, extending her hand.
That question was never brought up again.