#it’s currently 4am and it’s getting light outside so i went on my balcony to check if i can see the sunrise and take pictures

[lvstharmony]

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 14

Author’s Note:  I know it has been a little bit since I posted last.  There is a lot of stuff going on in my life right now, so it has been difficult to focus and give this story the attention it deserves.  The lovely Tyche has sent me her next chapter, however, so I have edited that and am posting it tonight.  This chapter is from Tyche’s perspective and is relaying her story.  Any editing errors are solely my own, and please don’t hesitate to inbox me if you notice something.

If you want to, you can skip down to the story below the cut.  I just want to give everyone an idea of what is going on with my life right now.  

For those of you who don’t follow @ritualistic-raven, my mother has quit two jobs this year with no savings, no safety net, nothing to keep her going long term.  The first job was one she had been in for eleven years, and she quit it as soon as her tax return came in (I think it was February? It was the beginning of the year). She lived off her tax return, without even trying to find a new job, until early June.  She found a new job in mid-July, and quit that one in September.  My sister a full time college student, and had not been working while going to school, so this was the only income they had.  There is also my nephew living with them.

My mother still has not found a job, and we are coming up on December. Toward the end of October, they (my mother, my sister, and my nephew) moved into my spare bedroom...  That’s right.  Me, my spouse, my sister, mother, and nephew all living in a just-a-hair-under 1100 sq ft house.  It is making everyone involved more than a lot bit stressed out.

My sister started a good job last week, but it is currently just seasonal (although there is a chance to go permanent after the seasonal gig is over).  I’m not even sure if my mother is still looking for jobs, TBH.  I work 42 hours a week, my spouse works 40-45, and we both have 45 minute commutes one way.  If she doesn’t, I have no idea when they will be able to get their own place - I feel terrible that my sister is sleeping on my couch or an air mattress in my office, and that my nephew has literally nothing to do at my house because my house is not very kid-friendly.  Fairly kid-proof, but not kid friendly.

I spend an inordinate amount of my time angry, depressed, overwhelmed, and exhausted.  I have difficulty sleeping, difficulty focusing on work, and resent my mother so much right now I could scream at her every time she crosses my path.  Add to all of that the fact that she has apparently forgotten how to cook (which she has done, and done well, for a living, on several occaisions?), we just made it through Thanksgiving here in the States, and Christmas holidays are right around the corner.  I’m also preparing for a business trip, trying to train a new person to help do my job, etc.

All that said, I am trying very hard to still write. I know it doesn’t always show on here, but that’s because sometimes I work on a fanfiction I have not even started posting yet, sometimes I am working on my novel-in-progress (which at this point has become something Brian Griffin would be proud of), and sometimes I am working on Destiel and Sabriel Secret Santa stuff.

TL;DR: Thank you for being patient with me, I have A Lot going on right now, and I promise The Miys is not on hiatus.

I stood on a platform in front of a large number of my fellow humans. The lights were dimmed, for the sake of my nerves, but I could still see several of the front rows thanks to the light from the video screens behind me. I felt like a mega-millionaire with a groundbreaking statement.

There was no form of microphone, no podium, not even a glass of water for my comfort. Everyone would still hear me, however, thanks to the Miys linking the translators.

I don’t know how long I stood in silence, trying to shake the nerves I expertly concealed. My feet were planted, my fingers woven in front my hips, shoulders back, and chin up. I appeared to be taking in the crowd. I was used to preparing any presentations. I was used to having a visual to gesture to or explain factually.

Here, I had nothing but my own history.

“Okay, Tyche. Deep breath. You know how to tell an engaging story. You can do this.” I thought to myself.

I rolled my shoulders in preparation and finally spoke.

“Thank you all for joining me. This hall has been reserved for those brave enough to share their stories of what they experienced after the End began. This is why we are here now. Many of you have met already, but for those of you who haven’t, please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Tyche. I like dark clothes, fluffy cats, coffee, and swearing.”

A few in the audience chuckled.

“I am a very serious person when needed. When I don’t have to be so serious, I am aloof to those who don’t know me and social to those who do. A bit like a cat, I suppose.

“You may be able to hear an odd French accent when I speak. On Earth, I was born in the United States of America but worked very hard to move to Paris. I spent years learning the language before I ever boarded a plane, and my accent shifted a bit towards French from that alone. I spent several years in France, honing my pronunciation in order to better communicate with those whom I worked with. I worked in executive administration for a very large financial institution after bustin’ my ass to get a middle-level administration job working with my sister.

“A few years after I moved to Paris and began buying my flat, I was approached by a smaller company. The pay wasn’t as good and they weren’t globally known, but I had apparently chatted with a family member of the owner one day and my occupation came up. I had been recommended to help keep this company from going under after a fiasco left them with no one to run the accounts.

“I was reluctant to leave my comfortable job until I could at least straighten out this smaller company’s bookkeeping. I’ll be honest, it was a mess.

“I had drafted my letter of resignation a few nights before the Launch. I was preparing to hand it in; I just had to convince myself I would be happier this way. Everyone was buzzing about who would be leaving Earth and if we would ever see them again, so on and so forth. I knew the CEO of my financial institution was leaving, but I didn’t feel bad about it. It was a corporation, after all, run by a board of directors.  Still, I kept my poor sister up late one night as she talked me into doing what would make me happiest, even if it meant leaving the company we both worked for.

“The night came and everyone was watching the synchronized streaming of the Launch. Twelve ships. Twelve launch sites around the globe. Faster than light travel! And, of course, only the rich could afford to go.

“We saw it. We all saw it. Well, most of us. It was declared an international holiday, wasn’t it? So many of us sat around on our devices, streaming this brand-new technology being launched with paying customers, civilians, on board. It was momentous! It was historical!

“But then when the ships launched… Well, they blew up. There just isn’t any other way to describe it. The ships had been sabotaged to explode in the atmosphere at the same moment. The feeds cut right after we saw the start of the explosions and if you were outside or near a window? You probably saw the light race across the sky, rippling the air as it went. Then everything went dark.”

I paused for a moment. I could hear murmurs which I assumed were people telling their neighbors where they were when it happened.

Struggling to continue, I cleared my throat again. My vision was being overwhelmed by the past. My brain had thrown me into a visual flashback. I forced myself to narrate what I was seeing, telling my story as my brain recalled it.

I had taken my wine glass and tablet out to the balcony of my small Parisian flat. I was four levels from the ground and could see the lights of the city from where I lived. Even the Eiffel Tower could be seen here, as it twinkled in the distance. The view was everything I had worked so hard to achieve.

I was overwhelmed at that moment with the feeling I was finally, truly home. Drinking wine on my Parisian balcony at 4am was what I truly wanted. Having a fantastic job on top of that, allowing me to be relatively stress free? Absolute freedom, aside from the sound of my mother snoring in the other bedroom.  Headphones on, I listened with minor interest until the countdown began. I could hear several of my neighbors counting down as if it was the New Year, making me laugh in delight.

« Dix ! Neuf ! Huit ! Sept ! Six ! Cinq ! Quatre ! Trois ! Deux ! Un ! »

The buildings and streets erupted with cheering as the ships set off from their launchpads, ready to embark on a journey like no other. I had mixed feelings about it. Fantastic new technology is amazing, but the richest of the rich being the only civilians? I was thrilled about this new age of space travel and tried to focus on that, pressing the negative feelings to the back of my mind.

I was pondering what discoveries would be made along their journey and how long we would have to wait to find out when suddenly the crowds fell silent. The screen of my tablet was shaky for a moment before the livestream simply ended.

Something was wrong. What was that color? It only last for half a moment before the stream ended, but it looked like…. I had seen this before. It was a fireball. But there was an odd color to it. Orange and red and white, but there was something else.

Before I could put any more thought into it, a light rippled across the sky, warping any clouds in its path. It was like a shockwave of light. It was unreal and worse than that, unknown. I gazed out in the direction it went and saw everything flicker, then go black.

The City of Lights was dark.

It all happened so quickly. I’m placing my glass on my balcony table with my tablet, sitting down a few minutes before launch, and then watching everything go dark. Less than ten minutes.

A few fearful screams could be heard, but we knew sunrise was soon. There was already panic, however, as more and more people shouted to their neighbors and even strangers that their phones and flashlights weren’t working. Cars wouldn’t start, the metro rail wouldn’t move, and we saw no airplanes flash overhead. We waited for emergency vehicles. Police and firefighters. “Where are they?” we kept asking each other. No sirens, no lights, no sign of help.

As the day went on, we realized more and more things wouldn’t work. It didn’t take long for us to reach the conclusion that anything that had been powered by electricity, even batteries, was useless. Looting began around midday, taking advantage of the lack of police vehicles and security systems. It didn’t matter what the store was, it was at risk. Electronics were especially popular, as people assumed the power would be restored at some point.

We marched on the government buildings. We demanded answers! What the hell happened? When will it be fixed? Tell us!

Our officials were as baffled as we were. No one had answers, because the people who would have the answers couldn’t communicate or travel with ease to let the officials know.

“You have to wait. We have to go to our scientists. We have to go to them to find out why,”

Tension rose higher and higher. Insulin pumps had failed in the flash. Pacemakers failed as well, and families were outraged that there was no help. At any moment, people would die.

The horror struck many who had not considered how much we rely on technology to keep us alive.

“What about hospitals!” Many started shouting to no one in particular.

I remember leaving the scene, in a state of shock from the realizations, and returning to my flat. “France riots at the drop of a hat. I’m not French. I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.” I told my cat as I stuffed a few clothes and some bread and water in a bag. I knew how cliché it was, but I also knew I wanted to pack light. I grabbed my duffel bag to shove more supplies into. Candles, matches, a book, a few knives… “Maybe more food.” A few more bottles of water and a wrapped cut of cheese really weighed it down, but I couldn’t skip nourishment. I was leaving Paris, on foot, not sure how long it would take me to get anywhere in this country. My mother refused to leave. “I’m sixty-four,” she declared like it was some great revelation. “I refuse to let some idiots run me out of my home.”

Technically, the flat was mine, in my name only, but I knew that tone and wasn’t about to try to argue.  She wanted to stay, she could stay.  I was taking Mac and getting the hell out of there. I wrapped in a thick coat and two scarves, put on my good boots, and then clipped the walking harness around the cat before remembering my passport. Just in case.

The click of the door behind me was heartbreaking. Was I ever going to come back? Would life restore itself in a few days? My feeling in my gut said no. It said the flash was catastrophic. It said to not get my hopes up.

“At least there’s still enough Arkansas in me to be able to navigate with the sun and stars,” I told my upset feline companion. He just squawked at me plaintively.

I headed south, toward the country. I’d go south for as long as I could.

I lost count of how many days it had been by the time I reached a small village in smelling-distance of the salty ocean. There had been no power anywhere. I had been able to stop here and there, begging people for a bit of food, just enough to make it another day. Everyone was scared of strangers. That wasn’t the French way, but this new reality made everyone paranoid. We’ve all seen those films.

The last town name I could remember is Millau. I ended up somewhere past that. A kind woman named Sandrine said she saw the flash and had been worried criminals would come.

“I’m too exhausted to hurt anyone who isn’t trying to hurt me,” I told her. I had seen very few people along my trek, but none of them seemed to think the lady with the leashed cat was worth bothering.

Sandrine offered me shelter and food from the gardens that were popular there. Aside from the candles and oil lanterns everywhere, it was hard to imagine that life here ever had electricity. It was peaceful and still very organized. The adults would speak in hushed voices. Theorizing what had happened, but no one could agree on one answer.

I stayed there for several months, never finding out what the source of the seemingly-permanent blackout was. Things were going well. This small village was rustic enough to function with little issue the entire time I was there.

Suddenly, it all came to an end. We had seen smoke off in the distance for a few days, but when we woke one morning, it was to the sound of screaming and panicking. The fire had spread overnight thanks to rough winds. It was engulfing the village.

I never want to see that again. So many people couldn’t escape. Many had been asleep when the fire took them. The sight of it was too horrific. Sandrine told me to take one of her horses and go. She would be close behind. Since I never unpacked all of my things, I grabbed my bags and rushed toward the horse pen. I was shaking as I dressed one of the horses, but managed to get everything cinched up. I ran for another saddle and bit when her house collapsed. A tree nearby, weakened by drought, had caught fire and fallen. Sandrine was inside.

I hate feeling helpless. I fought so much in my lifetime to that point so that I would be stronger, more capable, but in that moment, I knew I was helpless against a burning home. And I was terrified beyond screaming. In panicked silence, I mounted the horse and took off to the east.

This repeated for years. Find some people to huddle down with, something would destroy our home, we’d all take off in different directions for safety. Lather, rinse, repeat. The longer it went on, the more hopeless we felt. Many gave up. Many stopped caring. Many begged “why,” even though we had no way of truly knowing what caused all of this.

Sure, we saw the ships explode, very briefly, before everything went down. Around many fires we would discuss what this meant on the global scale. Nuclear reactors, medical necessities, agriculture… How long could we keep going, when everything we knew before was so tech-heavy?

After a handful of years, I quit trying to make allies. I was tired of seeing them die. I went off on my own to try to live like a hermit. I wanted isolation. I knew I could find it if I went back to one of the destroyed villages in the mountains. I knew I could stay there for a while, since I had learned how to scavenge for food and make minimal supplies last.

What I didn’t know is that I would get too comfortable in my solitude. I didn’t know that when approached by some fool stronger than myself, I would panic. He was bigger than I am, and the look in his eyes was one of true insanity. He rushed at me. All I could do was try to lose him in the woods I spent years casually learning, leaping over fallen trees and ducking under low-hung branches. This man…this man somehow kept up with me. He cornered me at a cliff, one that looked as if it overhung a flooded quarry.

I’m small. I’m perceived to be female. And I was alone with this terrifying man who’s lost his mind. I was not going to risk finding out what he wanted. Maybe to kill and eat me. Maybe worse. I wasn’t going to find out.

So, I flung myself, arms spread like wings, over the edge of the cliff, expecting death.

Instead, I woke up on this ship. I woke up with a few injuries from the chase, severe malnutrition, and a ringing in my ears.

Simon was there, and though we got off to a very rough start, he helped me by explaining the Ark and the Miys. He did have to sedate me a couple times, as violent as I was trying to be. He helped me get settled onto the ship and understand what the Miys were here. Simon was the first human I met here. And while he is, erm, awkward, I will say it was nice to see someone who hadn’t been through what we had.

A few people clapped, sensing that I had wrapped up my story. I snapped back into reality and wondered how long I had monologued, a bit embarrassed. I took another deep breath. Time to truly wrap myself up.

“Thank you for being here and being patient enough to listen to me go on. I hadn’t put much thought into how much I would share, to be honest. We all went through a lot. That’s why we share. Through our experiences, we can feel more comfortable with those around us. Hopefully, sharing my story will help show that I am an entire person, not just someone who tells you where to go and what to do. Again, thank you.” I found my way off the stage area as I tried not to cry. There were reasons I put this off for so long, and my caretaker was about to find out first hand what I am like when I break down. I needed to find him.

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