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I am an archeologist. And I have always loved my job; until now.
Here I stand, in these ancient caves. Is it destiny that has brought me here? Sheer luck? I don't know. What I do know, is that I am now cursed with knowledge no other human on this Earth has. I know how we began, and I know how we will end. More importantly, I know WHEN we will end. And I know it is soon.
The drawings on this cave are clear. Our makers have promised their return. And with their return, they have also promised they will end us. I do not know why it is they decided that we must end right after they created us. But the drawings are clear: they will return, descend from the skies, surrounded by green thunder. And all will end.
As I wonder how I will pass this knowledge to the rest of the world, my mind hopelessly going in circles from ‘why’ to ‘how’ and back again, I feel hands grabbing me. No one else knows I’m here. Only someone who already knows the truth could be here. But who… Have they returned? Do they want to silence me? As I struggle for my freedom, I feel a sharp pain, like a needle, in my arm. I lose consciousness.
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How long have I been sitting here on this bench? The sun is shining on my face, like a beacon of hope. But I know there is none. I do not remember how I got here, what happened to me after the incident in the cave. But I am a prisoner, not just of the walls that surround me, but also of my knowledge. For I have screamed, I have desperately yelled the truth to everyone within reach. No one will listen. They say I am crazy, I am a schizophrenic. There is no cave, no imminent doom. I keep confusing dreams with reality. I see things that aren’t there. My medical history supports their sayings: my grandmother was a schizophrenic. But I know the truth, this was no dream. I am condemned to wait for the end here, in this mental institution. Every time that my despair overwhelms me, and I start yelling the truth, they sedate me. And every time I wake up, startled by nightmares, strapped on my bed, confused, even more desperate than before. They will only believe me when it is too late. When green thunder will cover the sky.
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My daughter came to visit me. She too believes I am crazy. Every time she comes, she begs for me to come to my senses. To accept the truth, that I made everything up. And every time, she convinces me a bit more. I don't know anymore. I am losing my mind. But her smile makes me cling to a hope that maybe, just maybe, she is right. Maybe I am just schizophrenic. Maybe I can be happy; maybe she will have the opportunity to grow old.
We walk on the garden of the institution, she warmly holds my hand. I am ready now. I will accept the truth. I turn to her, to tell her that I am ready to leave this place. But my happiness quickly turns into despair, as I look at the sky. She turns to look at what I am seeing, then turns back at me, her face bearing a calm expression. How can she be calm? Can she not see? The sky is turning black, and I can see thunder….green thunder. I start to scream. And all goes blank again.
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I wake up. My daughter is there, holding my hand. I ask her what happened. She tells me it was just a storm. I ask her, did she not see the green thunder? “Father, the thunder was normal, not green”. “You imagined that, started screaming, they had to sedate you”. She begs me, calmly: “please come home”. She smiles at me again. Now I am sure. I am sick. I take her hand and smile back at her : “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I am ready to leave this place now”.
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It’s been two years since I left the mental institution. My daughter had a beautiful baby boy, my grandson. I live with them; she says she wants to keep an eye on me. I tell her there is no reason for concern, I am taking my medication. The nightmares have stopped, and I am happy.
We play with my grandson in the yard; my daughter is sitting next to us, reading a book. Suddenly, the sky starts going dark. A sudden storm, I think, like those we often have here. I look up, and I freeze. I see green thunder. Why am I hallucinating again? I’m taking my medication! I look at my daughter, should I tell her I’m once again seeing things? She too is staring at the sky, then turns and looks at me.
Her face is covered with horror.
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I woke panting and sweating.
// Α bit long, I know, but couldn't make it shorter while keeping the story intact. IGN: Axania
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