by Kristopher Heaton
It was an event long in the making.
I knew that it was something that I would have to face, a reality that I could not run from. There was only one option and it was not deniability. The day might seem preposterous to some who are told the story, an escape for others, and a delusion for a sizable third party.
It was the moment I fought the Armageddon.
I watched from the safety of a classroom window as the air quickly grew crisp and the sky was consumed in a wrathful grey. Large, brutal pellets of rain struck the land and the glass, the smallest of fissures surfacing from the impact of a downpour that layered itself chaotically over the ground. A single large oak tree standing tall and proud in the front of the Patriots’ high school bended and careened in the violent winds, firm branches snapping like twigs in remorseless gusts.
I lowered my head and shut my eyes; it wouldn’t be enough to see this. When the time came, I would have to feel everything happening. And so I did.
Thunder clapped like ten-thousand mountains fired from the heavens. Lightning seethed and crackled, a sound as searing as calamitous energy tearing its way through the empyrean shades.
The challenge had been made. I was ready.
Still seated in a chair attached by a steel prong to a confining desk, I twisted my body, exerting myself into the air and pushing the small counter forcefully from myself right toward the window. And just as the glass shattered, the first bolt tore through what was soon hot, melting metal.
As the sizzling fork of condemnation dove toward me in a speed barely met, I struck back with two metal legs torn from the chair, held together from the intensity of the storm only through the heat of my sheer determination. As I flew from the class underneath a swirling funnel of divine rage, I cast aside the unspeakably brisk bolts that came from every angle until I reached the pavement below, sparks and water bounding together from underneath my sneakers as I skid across the wet surface.
Facing down the enemy that towered infinitely above me, tendrils of lightning as wide as massive rivers ripping their ways through clouds now dark as ash, colored only by the azure tint of the apocalypse’s mighty javelins, I looked into the blinding flashes of seething death. I would not back down. I would not be stopped.
I stomped my foot into the ground, and the water rose in unison all around me. Twirling thin batons of metal now the weapons of a titan, I let the water dance to my whim, until it surged toward my foe as oceans of cataclysm, only to be reduced to a veil of steam by the heat of a coming onslaught. The heavy vapor parted a thousand ways as a fist of gloom from the skies more massive than twenty mountains hurtled its way toward me, only barely slower than the lightning. I caught it with my batons, but I could not stop it. I was pushed back for miles in a matter of seconds, my feet tearing through pavement and grass, my back holding out as it was forced through houses and hills.
Gathering my fortitude, I struck back.
My war cry climbing above the booming thunder, I threw the ash-filled fist back and readied myself for a lightning bolt that followed less than a second afterward, larger than any thrown before. I pounced like the king of lions, raising the batons above me as I flew up toward the heart of the tempest.
As the lightning was forced back by poles of steel, I finished my ascendance into the atmosphere and, seeing my adversary in a sight that would drive a man to insanity, struck it with instruments blazing with energy.
A howl of pain and rage shook the Earth, and as I looked below me, a surface hidden beneath clouds of toil became a molten fire.
And before I knew it, all shattered.
Many a colossus of flame and debris soared up toward me, and I rode the nearest mountain upward toward that which had now taken the form of a supernova, a rage and heat so great it laid waste to the light of the stars, tore the galaxies asunder, ground the planets to dust, and unleashed a roar that echoed through all the infinite corners of a silent space that turned from black to fire. My poles now instruments of celestial titanium in the hands of the last warrior left, I cast aside every solar flare that rained down upon me and hurtled landscapes that turned to ash upon meeting the tendrils of the end of all things.
I continued to soar upward into the blackness of space, stars and constellations shattering as I sped through them. I prepared the heavy hand of the infernal destruction that followed me as the planets combusted with the sheer force of my passing. And I readied myself for a mighty trade of titanic blows as I became a human comet soaring toward the wrathful sun.
This was a true event.
A true battle.
A true cataclysm in history.
A true daydream in my English class that took place in sophomore year of high school.
As the teacher went on and on in her lecture regarding Pride and Prejudice that I already knew like the back of my hand which I envisioned pimp slapping the apocalypse with, the true battle took place: my patience against the cruelty of the clock. And as I directed my gaze toward the world outside that bore the gloom and rain of a quintessential Monday, I readied myself.
For reality could never set in for long with me, and the battle against Judgment Day had scarcely begun.