Faces were turned towards the TV with unblinking eyes and rapid, anxious hearts.
“I ask my nation not to panic,” the politician said, “yes, there is an apocalypse coming. That does not mean that we can not survive this. If we hold strong, if we are prepared, we as a species can rise above our own circumstances. And I will not waver, because I now that this nation needs a leader more than ever. I will carry us into the future.”
The audience was captivated. They were trusting, they believed.
“And when that happens, it will be up to us to shape the new world. What world will that be? It’s up to you.”
Rachel blinked her eyes. Her world blurred out for a moment, before a tear jumped to the ground. She was terrified. No matter what their PM said, she was terrified about what was going to happen. What would happen to her? What would happen to her family? She felt so unstable, recalling easily how many times she’d already cried recently.
Three days. When someone tells you that you have three days to live, it holds a tremendous weight over you. Most people would think you would want to do anything you’ve ever wanted to in the end of days, but Rachel knew now that it was not as simple as that.
Because ever since she found out, all she wanted to do is cry.
Nothing anyone has said has made any difference. And yet, watching this comforted her. Or at least, she tried to let it. Deep down, she knew it was a lie. But if she let herself know that, she was afraid she’d break down completely, and she really wanted to survive just that bit longer.
Three days isn’t enough. It’s not even close. And she knew that nothing would ever be enough, either. She just wasn’t ready to die. She was fifteen; too young to die.
She hoped the politician was right about the new world.