Beyond My World

Four

I don't know what I expected the Armstrong Space and Science Administration to look like.

But... WOW. It must be twenty stories high with rows of giant square windows on each level. As much as I want to, I can't gaze up at it for long. I can't gape at the spine-chilling sky above. I can't even stop to steady my breath. I have work to do. What kind of work, I'm not sure. 

Above me, the sky is transforming: heavy, black clouds swallow the fluffy, white ones. They seem to linger only a mile above the ground. They're rippling, too, like ocean waves competing to touch the shore. Somewhere in the sky—it's impossible to guess exactly how far away because of the unnaturally low clouds— something small and white freezes, then hurtles down, down, down. Just a bird, I hoped. Not a plane.

 Not. A. Plane.

There's no one at the front desk, so I sort of tiptoe/sort of sprint up the stairwell leading to the second level, then the third, all the way up to the twelfth. I'm not taking any chances with the tiny elevator, which looks promisingly slow in my impatient eyes. I make stops at each story, running soundlessly down the halls lined with closed doors, trying to listen for any noise. Whichever room the EMERGENCY MEETING is in, there's sure to be lots and lots of noise, right?

Right. At the end of floor twelve stands a door with light seeping through the thin crack between it and the floor. Through it, I can hear a buzz of voices. And they don't sound happy. I say buzz because there are so many different opinions and words spewing out of people's mouths that I can't for the life of me understand a single sentence. 

The door is shut, not locked, and I easily duck inside without anyone noticing. The room is packed with people, all of them adults with tired-looking faces and stress lines pinching at the corners of their mouths and eyes. Dad's there, too. He's standing at the front, facing the entire room. I don't think he can see me. There's someone standing next to him: a young man with extra-noticeable creases on his forehead.

Dad's eyes are darting from person to person as everyone 'contributes' to the conversation. If you can call it a conversation. For a second I wonder what I'm doing in this room—this crowded room where I can almost taste the anxiety, this taut room that's making my heart pound and where I'm definitely not supposed to be. I'm risking my life. I could have died while biking here; that giant black sun thing could have exploded; a piano could have fallen from the sky right on my head for all I know. 

Then another thought passes through my head: what in the world is going on with me? I have no idea what's happening to the sky, why leaves are falling, why objects are freezing in midair. But I still decided to follow Dad to his EMERGENCY MEETING, which is halfway across town, with my bike. All because I'm nosy and can't keep my ears and eyes in my own business. Icouldhavedied, Icouldhavedied, Icouldhavedied, I COULD HAVE DIED.

Oh, heck. We're all going to die, especially with those weird clouds slowly lowering to the ground. This thought, this realization that the world is probably being eaten alive by a giant, black sun, doesn't send dread through me. At the moment, my body is sort of numb, and I can't take my eyes off the sky. Through the window at the front of the room, all I can see is a flurry of grey and black.

Wrinkly Forehead Guy raises his hand as someone yells something. "The beings from Beyond are not here to destroy us. The mission has failed, but we will keep working to understand them and what they want. This is why we work here, why we don't waste our valuable time on insignificant things."

Yeah, like your kids.

Wrinkly Forehead Guy frowns. Dozens of heads whip in my direction and freeze on me, including Dad's darting eyes.

Whoops. I said that aloud.