Suns Rising

The day the sun split in two.

I arose early this morning, groggy and fuzzy. My husband’s restless nights were taking their toll on me. I rubbed the sandy sleep out of my eyes and glanced at Jim curled up on his side, his jaw clinched and tension lines deep on his forehead. He was usually sprawled out on his back taking up the whole bed his face so relaxed he looked ten years younger, but this past month of worry had taken its toll on him too.

I eased myself out of bed in efforts not to wake him. I was anxious to see the sunrise this morning. I used to sleep for hours after the dawn, but in the past month, I hadn’t missed it, wanting to see what each new day would bring.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and headed outside. On the patio I plopped myself into a lawn chair facing eastward and waited as the sky turned pink.

Finally, the first rays peeked over the horizon. I watched in awe and growing terror as I realized today we finally had two suns. They must have separated in the night. I had hoped we had a little more time, but in the long run, what difference would a few days make.

It all started last month when the sun lost its perfect round shape and began to elongate. A brief mention was made on the news that first day, but on the next, when the sun began to resemble a football, panic spread quickly. Scientists from all over the world were called into newsrooms to explain the alarming trend and to speculate on what it meant for us.

Theories ran rampant in the first few days, but after a week, the sun actually started to cleave right down the middle, like a string had been tied in the middle of the sun and was being slowly pulled tight. It looked like a giant glowing butt. In the way that people do when they are scared, the jokes began about the sun “mooning” the earth. When the cleaving began, scientists were then able to determine what was happening. I couldn’t understand the jargon, so two weeks ago my husband tried to explain it to me.

“Carrie,” he began, “do you remember the cell division they taught you in high school biology?” I nodded for him to continue, vaguely picturing one cell splitting into two daughter cells.

“Well,” he said, “that’s what they say is happening to the sun. For so long they thought it would someday just explode, but now, it looks like it’s replicating itself just like our own cells do.”

“Cool,” I replied, thinking how awesome it would be to watch this scientific marvel, but Jim’s response stopped me cold.

“No, Carrie,” he snapped. “Not cool!” He ground the heels of his hands hard into to his eyes. Then with a deep sigh he continued.

“They don’t think the planet will make it with two suns.” His removed his hands from his tired drawn eyes. “They think once the sun has completely cleaved into two, each one will grow larger and gradually move apart. As the suns move away from each other, each will pull on the earth. We’ll be caught in a gravitational tug-of-war, only in this game, the rope won’t be strong enough to stay in one piece.”

“But they don’t know for sure, right?” I asked.

“No, hon,” he went on, “nothing is certain. If for some reason they are right though, we’re in a bad place.”

By bad place, I figured out what he meant. I may be rusty on biology, but living along the San Andres fault line had taught me a great deal about plate tectonics. If the earth was going to be pulled apart, it would start breaking where it was already fractured along the fault lines.

This morning, I could still hear his explanation echoing in my head as the two suns climbed higher into the sky. They no longer looked like conjoined twins but two perfect small balls in the horizon. I was reminded of the Old Testament descriptions of an awesome terrifying God, and now I understood how something could inspire both feelings.

“Oh my God,” Jim whispered behind me. I glanced back to see him looking so afraid and resigned. This was not something we could fight, not something we could predict. It was the worst case of “wait-and-see” I’d ever lived through.

“Sorry if I woke you,” I whispered back.

“No,” he said, “I wasn’t really asleep…”

He broke off suddenly. His eyes were riveted to the sky. I followed his gaze and just stared. The suns were moving apart. Quickly. One was heading north and one was moving south. My stomach dropped as I watched in horror.

Then suddenly, the ground started to shake. I’d lived through earthquakes, so I was used to it, but this time, I know Jim’s prediction was coming true.

He grabbed my hand as the earthquake continued and pulled me towards the street just as our walls started to collapse. Neighbors were streaming from their homes as the city’s sirens began blaring their frightful warning.

“Jim,” I screamed, “Jim!”

This couldn’t be happening, I thought. This is 2011, and this was science fiction non-sense. I’m going to wake up any minute I thought.

We made it to the middle of the street away from crumbling homes to join the throng of gathered neighbors. I was physically trembling so hard I couldn’t tell if the ground was still shaking. I looked at Jim and meet his panic filled eyes as I clung to his hand.

Then my world fell apart. The street disintegrated underneath my feet. I lost my grip on Jim. I was trying to grasp anything to keep from flying but there was nothing to hold on to. Still falling, everything turned darker and darker until, at last, there was just a void.

Tina B
Word Count=992
Prompt: You (or your character) wakes up one morning to see two suns rising from the eastern horizon. What's going on? Write the STORY or POEM.

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