[fic] The Human Apocalypse (2013 edit)

[elydesia]

Title: The Human Apocalypse
Author: kiwachou elydesia
Word count: 995
Rating: Teen
Summery: A collection of memories a young woman has of her late grandmother.
Notes: This is the very first story I wrote in my now garbage laptop. At the time, it was my masterpiece. It's been four years since then, and I've decided to give it an extensive edit revival. Heavy reference to religion, particularly Christianity.

There were roses that day. There were so many of them, I could hardly believe my eyes. At that moment, when I looked up at the sky and saw the drifting petals of broken roses rain on the crowd of people, I thought of my grandmother. How was she doing in heaven? She died ten years ago, but in doing so brought life to the new world. It was true what the prophet had said: "With the life of a rejuvenating soul, the new world shall be born."

I guess my grandmother was exactly that. Her name was Eri, and I loved her very much. From what I can remember, she was always smiling and very optimistic. She was my only family while growing up; I never knew I had other relatives until her funeral. After my grandmother's death, family and friends came together to say their final goodbyes. I was surprised at how friendly everyone was with one another. There were tears in everyone's eyes and pain in everyone's hearts. Why had I not seen this before her death?

This time of mourning was when I also met my parents. I learned they dropped me off at Grandma's house near the northern mountains, then left for a rich city with my father. They never came back. "I think they really like it there," Grandma would say, but her eyes were never happy when she said that.

After meeting my parents, I knew the truth: When they broke up at the rich city, each thought the other would come and get me. As simple as it sounded, no excuse they come up with could hide the fact they forgot about me.

Not sure if I should forgive them or not, I spent years thinking about it. Eventually I did, and we continued on as if our family never had kinks in the first place.

Everyday, when I lay down in bed and stare at the ceiling, I think about my grandmother. I think about how proud I am to share the same blood with the great woman who saved the human race from itself. But at the same time, an overwhelming sadness fills me and I start to wonder. Why did it have to be her? Why not someone else? The answer lies with the angels.

When I was little, my grandmother used to tell me stories of the Angelic Choirs, these leagues of angels who aid God. I'm not very religious, but Grandma was and wanted me to be, too. Maybe she thought if she told me stories with angels and God in them, I would someday be as faithful as her. But she respected my thoughts, and gave me choice in my life.

Her stream of stories never ended. She always had new ones to tell, as if her whole life was dedicated to making them. Now that I'm older, I've grown a fascination of mythology and various tales in multiple religions worldwide.

Sometimes I would wonder where she got these stories from. They were filled with detail and she told them with such enthusiasm. I doubt she made them up on the spot because she told them so effortlessly. She told stories as if she were recalling a shopping trip the day before.

I believe there is a heaven, and I believe there are angels and a God. But I don't think they don't do what everyone thinks they do. It's mostly a mystery, but I get that sort of feeling when I think about it.

When I go out, and people recognize who I am, they become excited and say, "Bless you and your family. I thank you for saving mankind. Your grandmother is an angel." It used to happen more often when I was a teenager, but as I grew older people stopped recognizing me. I used to be world famous, but now I am a nobody.

At the moment before my grandmother died, I thought, "It's time to be an adult." That was when I let go of her hand. I will never forget the smile she had on her face as I saw her float up. I will never forget her saying, "Thank you, Camilla."

What would've happened if I had not let her go? Would the Earth be full of demons and evil? Would the vampires and sea creatures remain? Would the sky still be poisonous? In that kind of world, my grandmother would have died anyway. In that era, her age was already pretty old.

When I was a young child, I asked my grandmother why it rained. She replied, "The rainmaker is turning crows into doves."

I asked her, "How?"

"He beats his rubber hammer on his floating cloud, and suddenly more clouds come and rain down God's tears. When the crows touch Gods tears, they are purified and turn into doves." Until I learned about the water cycle in grade four, I thought that was why it rained.

I came home crying to her that she lied to me, and made kids laugh at me that day by telling me about the rainmaker. We cuddled and she made me hot cocoa, while telling me the story of the rainmaker and how he fits into history. At the end, I cried at his death, yet rejoiced because he had a son that continued on the ways of the rainmaker.

I used to be so easy to please.

Now that my grandmother is gone, and I look back on the time I spent with her, I believe she was always something special. Something more than average. It always made me think there was another side to her she hid from everyone. Some day, I'll figure everything out. I'll learn all her secrets and see there really was this other side to her she had tucked away.

I hope she's happy in heaven. I hope she's an angel. It was a sacrifice for her and for me.