Chapter 3: The Grand Collide
The dusk deepened, draping the world in a thickening twilight as the celestial dance reached its climax. In the backyard, James and his mother had set up a quiet vigil, two lawn chairs facing the open sky, with the hum of the television seeping through the slightly ajar patio door, delivering a steady stream of updates. The night air was still, as if nature itself held its breath in the face of the impending celestial event.
Together, they watched, eyes skyward, as the two moons inched closer in their cosmic ballet. The regular moon, a comforting constant throughout James's life, now seemed frail in the looming shadow of its unexpected twin.
The news anchor's voice was a soft murmur in the background, a solemn soundtrack to the historical moment unfolding above. "We are now moments away from the closest approach," he intoned, his usual reporter's detachment fraying at the edges. "Observers around the globe are watching as the new moon—"
He was cut off by a sudden, stark silence from the television, a silent alarm that raised the hairs on the back of James's neck. He turned toward the screen, but his mother's hand on his arm stopped him. "Look," she whispered.
In the sky, a silent cataclysm blossomed. There was no sound, but the sight was a thunderclap to the senses—a burst of light as the two moons collided. The old moon, once so distant and untouchable, was now a canvas for an extraordinary and violent masterpiece.
What looked like slow motion to the awestruck observers on Earth was, in reality, a catastrophic frenzy. The collision was not one singular impact but a series of them, as the gravitational dance tore the new moon apart, its debris scattering and careening into the old, etching bright scars of destruction across its surface.
From their small vantage point, James and his mother watched as the old moon's familiar face was marred and slowly consumed by the encroaching debris. It was a surreal tableau, silent to them, yet undoubtedly resonating with a profound energy across the void.
In those moments, the concept of space—the vast, impenetrable expanse—shrunk to an intimate scale. It was as if this cosmic event was a private showing for the inhabitants of Earth, a reminder of their place in the broader strokes of the universe.
The aftereffects were immediate, even as the visual spectacle waned. The television buzzed back to life, the news anchor's voice now tinged with a palpable sense of disbelief. "We've just witnessed the partial destruction of our moon," he reported, his professional composure battling with the raw human reaction to such an unprecedented event. "The impacts are ongoing, and—"
James turned off the TV. This was a moment for the naked eye, for human connection, not for commentary. Side by side with his mother, under the altered heavens, he watched the slow death of the old moon as a new chapter in Earth's celestial story began. And in the silence that followed the visible destruction.
James's gaze wandered from the disintegrating visage of the moon to the faces of his neighbors. They too had spilled into the streets, their eyes reflecting the celestial drama unfolding above. There was a unity in their silent vigil, a shared human experience that linked them all—until the harmony shattered.
A scream sliced through the evening air, shattering the contemplative mood. It was raw, filled with a primal terror that clawed at James's spine. Heads turned toward the sound, and that's when James noticed it—the strange, uneasy feeling that had crept up on him now manifested before his eyes.
The people around him, the ones who had been neighbors, friends, familiar passersby, were contorting. Their bodies twisted into grotesque shapes, faces elongating, limbs warping. It was a scene from the most nightmarish of tales, made flesh and bone right there on the suburban road.
Another scream, this one closer, drew his attention back to his own world, just in time to see his mother change. "Son," she gasped, a note of confusion and fear in her voice that broke his heart. But her words were cut off, her beautiful face that had always been a source of comfort was now twisting, transforming into something monstrous.
The creature that had once been his mother turned its newly formed, cruel eyes on him. They were filled with a hunger that was not her own. James stumbled back, his mind reeling from the impossible horror. She lunged, but he, powered by adrenaline and disbelief, managed to evade her grasp.
"Mom, what's happening?" he cried, the plea lost in the chaos. There was no glimmer of recognition, no response—just the mindless drive of the creature she had become.
Panic propelled him as he sprinted towards the house, the thing that was no longer his mother mere steps behind. With a burst of desperate strength, he slammed the door shut, the thud of her body against it resonating through the house.
James's heart thundered in his chest, his breath ragged as he backed away from the door. The world as he knew it had twisted into a horror he could not comprehend. His thoughts were a tangle of fear and sorrow—mourning the gentle mother he knew, even as he feared the creature she had become.
The house, once a sanctuary, now felt like a tomb. The muffled sounds of chaos bled in from outside, the screams of a neighborhood turned alien. And amidst the cacophony, James stood alone, a boy facing the end of his world with nothing but terror and the echoing question of "why?"
The night erupted into chaos, a cacophony of destruction and despair that clashed with the sirens wailing their mournful song. Explosions, distant yet dreadfully near, sent tremors through the ground, a violent pulse that seemed to synchronize with the pounding of James's own heart. He was inside, a lone figure amidst the growing pandemonium, frantically pushing furniture against doors and windows, anything to fortify the fragile barrier between him and the unfolding nightmare.
His hands shook, each movement fueled by a rush of adrenaline and terror, as he wedged chairs under doorknobs and piled books and household items against the potential entry points. Every thud against the door, every scratch against the windows, sent fresh waves of panic surging through him. The creatures—they were relentless, driven by an insatiable frenzy that was once human, now something entirely other.
The house, which had always been a haven of childhood innocence and family warmth, shuddered under the assault of the twisted beings outside. Their snarls were a grotesque symphony, punctuated by what sounded like screams of agony—a chilling reminder that these monsters were once neighbors, friends, family. It was as if the remnants of their humanity were clawing their way out, only to be smothered by the savage force that had overtaken them.
James backed away from the last piece of furniture he'd barricaded with, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He could hear the splintering of wood, the scrape of nails, or were they claws now, against the exterior of his childhood home. It was the sound of relentless hunger, the sound of desperation—the sound of his own heart, pounding a frantic rhythm against the backdrop of his ribcage.
Above the scene of uproar and confusion, James could still make out the intermittent cries of the emergency broadcasts, the static-laden voice attempting to impose order on a world that suddenly slipped into chaos. Instructions, warnings, advisories—they all seemed futile against the primitive howling and the visceral fear that came with it.
James, now hidden as best as he could manage, could only wait, hope, and silently plead for a reprieve. With every passing second, the struggle between his urge to survive and the gnawing despair threatened to consume him, much like the creatures sought to do to the last vestiges of the world he had known.
Huddled in the dim confines of his room, James could hear the integrity of the house's defenses being tested by the relentless siege of the creatures outside. With each thud against the door, the barriers he had erected—a last-ditch effort to ward off the inevitable—began to give way, the sounds of splintering wood and shattering glass a grim accompaniment to his racing pulse.
But hiding was never a solution, only a temporary reprieve from the relentless hunt. The reality of his situation was as stark as the moonlight that spilled in slivers through the gaps in the curtains. The monsters, with their newfound, insatiable voracity, soon broke through the front door, their forms a blur of twisted limbs and malevolence as they poured into the sanctuary that was once his home.
They made their way through the house with a terrifying determination, each room succumbing to their search. The banging grew louder, more insistent, as they neared his room. James's hands trembled as he clutched the prepared bag—a contingency plan born of his mother's foresight and a discussion that now seemed a lifetime ago.
He knew the time had come—the just-in-case moment was now a stark reality. With the creatures' frenzied beating at his door, the wood began to bow and crack, signaling its imminent surrender. James cast a desperate glance around his childhood room, at the remnants of normalcy and a life that had been irrevocably altered.
In a surge of survival instinct, he flung open the window, the night air rushing in to meet him. With no time for hesitation, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and clambered onto the sill. The cacophony behind him reached a crescendo as his door buckled, a splintered testament to the creatures' brute force.
James leaped from the window, the ground coming up fast to meet him. The impact jolted through his body, a shock of pain that paled in comparison to the adrenaline-fueled terror. Scrambling to his feet, he spared no time to assess the damage; survival meant movement, and his every instinct screamed for him to run.
And run he did, his feet pounding against the cold earth, the bag heavy on his back—a lifeline in the form of a few days' supplies and the clothes that now clad his trembling form. Behind him, the house that had been a symbol of familial love and security was now a beacon for the deformed creatures of the night.
The path ahead was uncertain, a journey into the darkness with only the hope of dawn as his guide. But forward was the only way to go, away from the chaos, away from the horrors that had once been human, and toward a future that was as unknown as the now fragmented moon above.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Signed_JMB
Signed_JMB Creation is hard, cheer me up! VOTE for me!Like it ? Add to library!Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone