The End of the World | The Dreamweaver

We were living in a high-rise, all of us together, when I looked out the window and saw something extraordinary happening in the distance, somewhere over the city center.

There was an enormous arc of light stretching across the sky, and within it a steady stream of what looked like circles falling toward the earth. I called everyone to the window. We stood there watching, somehow knowing exactly what we were witnessing without anyone having to say it.

It was the beginning of a nuclear war.

The sky began to light up with explosions. Enormous, flattened mushroom clouds spread across the horizon until they seemed to fill the entire sky. We watched in horror, knowing that whatever was happening out there would eventually reach us.

We tried to get onto the internet, but there was no connection. The telephones weren't working either. We had no way of finding out what was happening, where the bombs had fallen, or what might be coming next.

We speculated about who had launched the attack. At first we thought it must have been Russia, but I eventually concluded that it was probably Iran. If Russia had launched a full-scale nuclear attack, I reasoned, the entire planet would likely have been annihilated.

And still we stood at the window, watching.

Gradually, the sky began to darken. The explosions gave way to something even more terrifying. Nuclear winter was setting in. Snow began to fall, the wind picked up, and before long the world outside was engulfed in almost complete darkness.

Eventually, scattered lights began appearing in the surrounding buildings. Apparently, some of them had emergency generators. One building directly below ours suddenly came to life when its generator started running.

My mother and father were there with us. We were all frightened, but there was nothing to do except watch and wait.

On the balconies of neighboring buildings, people began appearing and communicating with one another. I recognized several of them, including mothers from the children's school, although I had never seen these people on their balconies before. It was strange to see familiar faces in such unfamiliar circumstances.

We began discussing our provisions. How much food did we have? How much water? There was pasta, apparently, but would it be enough? How long would we have to survive without electricity, communications, or access to anything beyond the building?

I kept trying to use my telephone, hoping that somehow a connection might be restored.

At one point, we were gathered around a table, and someone was pouring sparkling water from a bottle of Lanjarón into drinking glasses. When it was my turn, I asked for only half a glass. I suppose I was already thinking about conserving what little we had.

My father, meanwhile, had devised a rather peculiar method of measuring radiation. He took the clear plastic cover from a cake dish and placed a strip of what looked like gaffer's tape across it. He announced that by looking through the plastic, he could somehow determine the level of radioactivity in the room.

I thought this was ridiculous, although he seemed quite convinced of its effectiveness.

There was another curious episode involving Virginia. Someone was speaking on the telephone, possibly Virginia herself, and I understood that her grandmother had arrived.

"Which grandmother?" I asked.

"Wildberger," came the reply.

Her father's mother.

I was puzzled. I had believed that she had died long ago, but apparently she was still alive and had somehow managed to make her way to us.

My father suggested that we prepare a proper American meal for her. His idea consisted of two hamburger patties accompanied by rippled potato chips. He was certain she would enjoy having a real American meal.

All of this was taking place while the world outside was descending into darkness and chaos.

At some point, we ventured out into the streets. We were walking toward the city center in a group, encountering other groups of people moving through the devastated landscape. We were chanting and singing as we walked, although I couldn't have said what we were singing or why. Perhaps it was some attempt at solidarity, or simply a way of coping with the terror of what had happened.

I remember Delilah going into a toilet somewhere along the way. She was inside for an unusually long time, and when I went to check on her, she told me that she couldn't go. She was simply too upset.

I understood.

There was no escaping the knowledge of what had happened. The bombs had fallen. The sky had gone dark. The familiar world had disappeared, and none of us knew whether we would survive, whether help would ever arrive, or whether there was even anyone left to help us.

And yet we continued doing the ordinary things people do. We worried about our children. We counted our provisions. We offered one another something to drink. We welcomed relatives, discussed what to serve for dinner, and looked out at our neighbors, searching for some reassurance that we weren't entirely alone.

Throughout it all, I felt an overwhelming sadness and fear, and the terrible certainty that the world we had known was gone forever.

Then I woke up.