This is NOT Science Fiction, Author Unknowable

The end of the world is here. The only way to escape it is through thought. This is my story...

I was in my condo, just right for a small family. There were many families like mine in the building. Across the hall was a mother with her four-year-old son. On this particular day, I was home, and my husband was out and about.

We lived on the 10th floor of a 14-story building, really 13 floors. The top floor is a common area rooftop for socializing, happy hours, and sunbathing. Superstition won't allow for 13 floors, so we called it 14 because the address was 14 Hope Street. Fitting, yet a contradiction, given that 13 is supposed to be bad luck, not hopeful.

It felt like a dream, but it was very, very real. A regular old summer day. I think it was a Saturday because the kids were home and not in school. However, it was summer, so it could have been any day. Time is all a blur.

I looked out the window and saw far-off in the Horizon what seemed like gray mist. What should have been there was the city landscape with poles and wires and the highway in the distance. What I saw was not happening. It couldn't be. I put on my glasses to see if what I saw was what I thought I was seeing. I couldn't make it out. Nothing I have ever seen before, nothing I have ever heard of, nothing I had ever even dreamed of. It was surreal. My mind couldn't comprehend, but my Spirit had a certain sense of foreboding. When I came to my senses, I was fear-stricken. My vision focused, and I saw it clear as day... It was the end of the world.

My neighbor across the hall was a single mom, and we always looked out for her and her son. They came over frantic and ran to my window. She saw what I saw even though we lived on opposite sides of the building. That meant this fog was surrounding us.  Shit! Where is my husband?? I thought. I called, but in a typical fashion, he didn't answer his phone.

For a time, there was nothing on the news, nothing on social media. It's like we were the only ones to see it. I knew it was the end of the world, and I asked myself, how can we survive this? It looked far away, like where the sun should be setting, but it felt really close to me, like when the sun sets.

I knew it was closing in on us. I just couldn't tell how fast. Where the hell is my husband? I figured maybe we had a few hours before it enveloped the building. Was I crazy? What to do? What to do? Perhaps I've gone insane?  But that would mean my neighbor was crazier because she was totally freaking out. Pacing and carrying her son from room to room.

"Put him down!" I said.

"Go watch TV in my bedroom while your mom and I think," I told the boy.

I wanted a drink so bad, but something told me to keep every whit I had about me. I had to figure this out. It was like a puzzle or a game. It boiled down to that thought experiment in school: if you were stranded on an island or a survivor of an airplane crash, what seven items would you want to have with you to survive? 

So we put our heads together. Let's assume that what is coming leaves us with no electricity and eventually no food or drinkable water. We know the fear of human nature, so there will be violence and looting, and I fear a Lord of the Flies type of scenario. We need batteries, a lighter, a knife, rope, food, and water. Unfortunately, we are going to need the kind of food that I don't usually eat. That crap with a long shelf life. Canned and processed food like Twinkies. 

"Quick, go pack your son's Lunchables. That'll last," I told her. "Bring flashlights and clothes and shoes for hiking and the changing weather."

I could feel the temperature dropping noticeably, but I couldn't tell if it was just the nature of fear. To be cold, yet be sweaty at the same time. It made me think of the season of hot flashes that thankfully was behind me. Snap out of it! Get present! Think!

I can't remember what my husband wore when he left that morning. I grabbed a pair of his shoes and an all-weather jacket for whenever we find each other. It really can't be all-weather when you don't know what the hell is coming at you, can it? Focus girl. Focus. Stop with the mind-chatter. 

The news started coming in. It was some kind of weather event. I could see it. It wasn't far away now. I recognized the neighborhoods that I could no longer see in the distance. Instead, I didn't recognize them anymore. Was it a blizzard coming in the summer? What the…?!?

I had 3 big irrational fears that came from actual, once-in-a-lifetime events in my life. 

#1. I didn't fear being in a plane crash, but the possibility of a plane crashing into me on the ground makes me pause. When I was fourteen, a plane crashed into the 14th Street bridge in Washington, DC, and went into the Potomac River, killing 78 people. That was 15 minutes from my house. I still shudder sometimes when I cross that bridge. I feel the souls.  

#2. Falling off a bridge. I remember watching footage of the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake where part of the Bay Bridge collapsed, and a car drove right off the edge and into the abyss. The bridge collapse crushed people below, killing 43 people, yet my nightmares were about that one care that drove off the edge. The mind does its own thing.

#3. Most similar to this impending doom of this damn fog situation is the tsunami that hit Thailand in 2004. There was an earthquake. The water receded for miles. The beachgoers and tourists didn't even notice the animals fleeing. Suddenly in the distance, there was a big wall coming toward them. It was the ocean. A town disappeared, and 230,000 lives were lost. There was a movie made about it called The Impossible. It terrified me. What would I do? Since then, I always watch the water when I go to the beach and vow that if I ever see the water recede, I'm high-tailing it inland. I will shout to whoever is with me, "Get your shit...We gotta go!" 

My neighbor goes to pack her survival items that would be carryable. I get my husband's things too. There won't be time when he gets home to be fooling around. Toothbrush? Underwear? Soap? Pictures? This is stupid. How do you pack for the unknown? What do you really need? Think, woman, think!

They come back with waaayy too much stuff. "Sweetie, who's going to carry all that stuff?" I ask in my most patient voice. I could see my husband grabbing that excess weight, saying, "I got it," and tough it out under the strain of the child's favorite toys. No way. Not happening. "Take only what you can carry," I say. "You got the Lunchables?"

I recheck the window, and my heart drops. My husband went out beyond where the fog now looms. He still doesn't pick up his cell. Lord, please let this just be his regular lousy habit of not checking his phone. Please? I always fussed at him about not picking up or calling me back timely. "What if I was in trouble? Guess I'm on my own, huh?" He says, "I'm sorry, I was busy. I didn't hear or feel it vibrate. I forgot it in the car." I knew this day would come, but I'm worried about him. Did this thing swallow him, or is he downstairs parking the car?

I could tell we had less than an hour to make a move. What move? Instinctively I knew I had to leave and find a better place than the 10th floor in a modestly maintained building. I don't want to be stuck here when the electricity goes out. I foreshadow packed stairwells and men trampling over kids and women to save themselves. 

The world's gone to crap.

I second-guess myself. Should we hide in the bathroom and get in the tub? Go to a room without windows, maybe? or stand under a door frame? I heard the survival tactics for various calamities. No, that's for earthquakes or tornadoes or hurricanes. This wasn't that. What the f***!

All I knew is we had to get out of the building. Suddenly this young woman and her child were my responsibility. He was real bratty, even for a 4-year-old. I know my patience was thin. My thinking was becoming surgical. For a split second, I thought they're going to weigh me down. Maybe I should tell them to go into the bathroom, and I wait it out? Shameful, I know. SHAME!! 

So I shook it off, and I told her just like I had planned in a tsunami scenario, "Get your shit...We gotta go!" 

"What about your husband?" she asked.

"We'll catch him downstairs if the good Lord says so. I'll keep calling on the way down because we are NOT taking the elevator." 

Another old fear reared its ugly head. Being stuck in a small space. When I was a kid, my older sister took me to the bathroom at the dentist's office. We somehow found ourselves locked in and pounded on the door and screamed for dear mercy. HEELLLPPPP!!! Until she realized that the lock had to be turned clockwise instead of counterclockwise like our doors at home. I had almost forgotten that one.

"If he is not pulling up when we get down there, we'll worry about that then," I tell her. 

I was super "present." There wasn't time for a plan B. The time is Now. Do. Act. Or Die.

The news said it was a weather event with no definition, never seen before, and couldn't be explained. Yes, a mist with heat and toxins mixed with waves of cold and dust could stop up your lung function. Literally, take your breath away. 

I was reminded of the museum exhibit of the Lost City of Pompeii. My husband and I want to see it in Cincinnati one time. We were struck by the fossils of people who died in an active position like running or holding a baby. It's like the fumes got to them so fast. They died where they stood, and then the ash overtook and mummified them. I found that very interesting, but it didn't become a fear. Too bad. I would have had the "what would I have done?" scenario already locked.

How do you outrun something coming at you from all sides? I wish I had a gas mask, dammit! Next time. Note to pre-plan for the next potential disaster. We get downstairs—no sign of him. People on the street are panicking. I don't know where they are going. I'm happy the news is still streaming. That means that people are still out there beyond the fog monster. Answer your goddamn phone!

Okay, what to do? What to do?! Something said, "Head towards the water."

"Water!" I shouted.

"Water?" She asked.

"We have to head towards the water."

"There is no water around here. We're in the middle of the city!"

Why had we moved back to this Urban Jungle? We thought, "Hey, let's downsize. The kids are gone, no grass to cut, and we can walk to the cafes and shopping." Blah, blah, blah. I, however, had started to become fond of nature in my middle age. We compromised and found a "walking city." The kind designed for walkers and bikers with a fair share of parks for kids to play and families to picnic. All this to make you feel like you were in nature. It was a man-made oasis. I have the eerie feeling it was no doubt built over a sewage facility or an old gravesite of slaves or indigenous Native Americans.

I had a running route that I loved. A 6-mile loop that went through trees and parks and around a few gated communities. There was a huge lake that's backed up against the pass at about mile 1.5.

"This Way..." I texted my husband to meet us at the lake.

"Come on, girl. We can make it, but we gotta move!" I push.

The boy is going to slow us down. I wish we had bikes. And like a miracle from God, just a block away, there was a rack of green bikes waiting to be rented. I've never used them before, but they've become staples in these urban centers along with the electric razor scooters. It's the city's way of making us feel good about ourselves for saving the planet from the fuel emissions of cars. I sound so judgmental. Didn't I choose this community? I tell myself, "I've done the best I could with the hand I was dealt." Back to the business at hand. Presence, please!

We rent two bikes. You can't move them until you pay. I would have just taken them because I had a distinct feeling that money would no longer have value when the world ends. In which case, money was no object.

We get to the lake. It's eerily quiet out here in the middle of the city yet away from it. There are some families just now noticing the fog or looking at their phones in disbelief. They are packing up to leave, and I think this is the best place to be. I want to tell them but, what do I know? It is just my own thoughts. My intuition. Actually, it is my Spirit guiding me. But people don't believe anymore. They say they believe in God, but not Miracles. Though, they believe in war—crazy world.

I have to take care of my young neighbors now. I drop a pin for my husband to find me on my iPhone and keep an eye out for him. He has the location tracking for me on his phone, but he doesn't know how to use it. What if his phone is dead? Shit. He'll get it charged—nothing I can do about it. I have to press on. We will connect. I cannot fathom another scenario right now.

The best-case scenario is that I am freaking out for no reason right now. I am crazy. This will blow over like a summer storm in Tallahassee, and it will be a funny story we tell our grandkids someday. I make a note-to-self to get gas masks if we survive. You know, fool me once and all. 

I see a house I admire that backs up to the lake. Every time I make this run, I slow down to a walk to take it all in. I feel like I've lived there before. It's a dream house. Not possible. New construction. Maybe 5 years old. Reminds me of the mansions we saw once on a tour of this water straight called Millionaire's Row in Miami for my parents' 60th Anniversary. Big bodacious homes on the water. Big glass windows, fantastic lawns with concrete lions on either side of the columns. Gold-laden doors. Indoor pools and courts, bowling, and theaters. It sounded like living at a mall. Except the private boat docks were as common as driveways. 

I know this house. Something says, "Go there!" And so we go. We walk up to the big sliding glass doors that make up the whole wall. Just in time, the boy is getting cranky again. We stopped and let him pee in the trees along the way. He couldn't hold it. I was glad he was a boy at that moment. 

"Just run over there and pee! Guys do it all the time," I say.  

It's one of the few luxuries of being male. Or should I say one of many in a male-dominated society. I recheck myself. Is this judgment or clarity? No time for introspection. Keep it moving.

"Hellooo! Anybody Home? We need help. Hello?"

We go in. Gorgeous. I mean! How much money do you have to live like this? I've been to some lovely homes. I virtually toured some on that show, "The Lifestyles of Rich & Famous." But never, ever would I ever have seen such a home on the inside in real life. Am I dreaming? Wake up! Look for the fog. Can't see it from here. Good. There's still time.

We walk around and go upstairs. No one is home—perfectly stocked house. We're squatting here. Period. The owners will understand, or they won't. I'll apologize later. I feel like they are traveling in Europe or maybe the Fiji islands or on safari in Africa. I felt a certainty that they won't be coming back. I shudder. 

We go to the kitchen, naturally. That's always the epicenter of a home, especially here. TVs, fireplace, sitting area, a sub-zero fridge that looks like part of the wall and as big as one too. We turn on the TV and watch the news. People are dying. I am not crazy. They say take cover but don't say how. What the hell does that mean? 

I'm so worried about my husband. 

Apparently, the world really is coming to an end. I think of my kids and my family and start calling. No one answers. The world is slipping away. It is only a matter of time. Maybe we will be like Will Smith in that movie, I Am Legend, where it is just him and his dog looking for other survivors. Lord, please don't let us turn into zombies. I can't take it. 

I don't know how there is still news on TV, but I am happy for the information and a connection to the outside world. So long as it is on, I know there is hope. 

Scientists are calling this a climate explosion.

What caused it? The environmentalists, spiritualists, conspiracy theorists all have their say on the matter. My take on it is that there were too many catastrophic attacks on the earth that had all occurred simultaneously. 

A massive excavation of the rainforest in Brazil cut the planet's oxygen. Fires burning simultaneously in Australia and the West Coast of America burned so furiously that undiscovered elements were released. Wars in the Middle East exploded massive oil fields depositing waste to the entire region. Heat in the African deserts had risen to unlivable levels, the water evaporated from the streams and rivers, and people burned to a crisp. A North Korean nuclear testing accident imploded. North and South Korea are gone. Europe is freezing over as the jet steam came in low and cold. Antarctica ice caps are gone, and Greenland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, and the UK are all underwater. 

I am done. My head is spinning. This makes the pandemic look like a runny nose.

Something said, "You did this."

Wait, what? Me? I did my part. Well, I did the best with the hand I had. I catch myself. I guess that's my default defense mechanism. I stopped eating meat in high school. I recycle. I walk more than drive. I donate to good causes. I am a good person! 

"You did this, you, humankind. The earth will outlive you. Don't worry. Just like you rid the land of pests and things that will kill your crops and threaten your homes, the planet will do the same to you. The earth is caring by nature and not mean-spirited. It does not have free will like humans. It lives in purpose and obedience to the laws of the universe. Polarity. Correspondence. Energy. 

Humankind created a 'Climate explosion.' The planet is reacting. You were the cause. This is the effect. Take heart and be glad. The world isn't ending, my child. It will live for billions of years and replenish itself. Only life as you know it is ending, not the world. These are two very different things. Go Upstairs."

Yep. I called it. It's the end of the world. I leave the mother and son in front of the TV. The boy fell asleep—cute little bugger. I am in a large bedroom with more walls of windows. I can see the killer fog coming in from the climate explosion. I sit on the edge of the bed and cry and cry and cry. Inconsolable for I don't know how long. I went through a good box of tissues. I hate blowing my nose. Get it together, girl. Think.

How do I want to go out? What has my life been about? What is it for?

I place a pillow on the floor in front of this wall of glass. Overlooking the lake. The fog looks like dust. An orange glow with a light mist this way comes. It's kinda beautiful.

I sit Yogi style and decide to go out the way I came in. With God. A few deep breaths, with eyes closed. I Center myself.

Ohm….

OOOhmmmm….

OOOhhmmmm….

Thank you, God, for this life. Please protect my family and friends and everyone in the world. Cover their Spirit, bless them all with the peace that I might have peace. Let your love and wisdom replace all fear. Forgive me for my errors. My unforgiveness. I release all pettiness seeing now how immaterial and ridiculous they were in the context of all life, and your goddess. Thank you for providing this beautiful planet and daily sustenance for life. I took it for granted, and I apologize for the world. I apologize to the earth on behalf of humankind.

Forgive us, Lord. What do you want me to know?

And then I float away. Stillness and emptiness… Surely the toxic fog is overtaking me. I imagine this is how the next civilization will find me, like the mummification of the people of Pompeii by the ash.

Something said…

Let me be transparent...Something is Spirit. SPIRIT said, "My child, you are forgiven, yet you have never been condemned. This is not punishment. I have no need to punish. This is the cause and effect of free will. It is as I created it. You are not dying here. You found the escape route for your freedom, and you are being recreated in my image. Others have found the way too. You Are Not Alone. The journey is not over."

I was 10 stories high. My mansion has many rooms. (Wait. I'm sure I've heard this before.) My soul knows it has been here before in this house. There is a passageway that leads much higher. The construction was never finished. I understand what Spirit meant now. I grab my neighbors, and together we follow the guidance. Go Upstairs. 

Everything was discombobulated. The passageway was to the left, but it went right. We had to make it above the 20th floor to survive. For a while, we were stuck on a landing and couldn't carry ourselves further.

Now what? I prayed.

God said, "Leave your body. The only way from here is through thought."

We held hands and closed our eyes. We gave our thoughts over to Spirit and asked him to lead us. Our minds were joined. He took us to the 25th floor way above the climate explosion and far away from harm. We were safe and felt an incredible release—peace, peace, peace.

We didn't need our survival kits after all. Spirit said that I had followed the only escape route that will ever work. I aligned my thoughts and followed where Spirit guided me. To salvation. The will of God.

My husband was already there. Waiting for me.

And we lived eternally happily ever after, in unity.

And so it was.

And so it will be.

Sela 

Written by Tonya Kinlow, Authored by Spirit