The End and the Beginning

Flash fiction

Photo taken near the Hudson River, January 2025

Daddy says don’t cry, son, this isn’t the end. . . it’s the beginning. The first leg of the journey. He holds me close on the front lawn.

Better to see it through than hide in fear, he adds.

I can’t help but think of dying—all of us dying. How much it’s gonna hurt—how sad it all is. And what if Daddy’s wrong?

Our world—the whole planet—is gonna become a ball of fire, Daddy had warned days before. His words haven’t stopped echoing in my mind.

The Mathewsons across the street are already gone. We checked on them a couple of days ago, and they were all in the living room, crumpled all over the place. Poison—they drank poison.

Old Mr. and Mrs. Loomis next door, too. Pills. They didn’t want to wait till the end.

Our Father, who art in Heaven…Daddy says, hands clasped together, staring heavenward. As he recites the prayer, I can’t help but wonder why we waited.

The pink and red sky screams as it splits apart. It looks like a cracked windshield, a giant spiderweb, but the cracks get wider by the second and turn into gashes. I try to speak, but it feels like I’ve got ashes in my throat.

A loud crack rips through us, sending us sprawling. The ground trembles as fire fills the skies, pouring out of the wounds like blood.

This fire, this destruction, didn’t come from the sun. It came from somewhere else.

But deliver us from evil…Daddy screams as the sky shreds apart.

I try to sit up, but I’m knocked back by the force. Random memories surge through my mind: ripped fabric, torn jeans, bloodied knees. Quick, fast, all out of order—all out of focus.

Then there’s nothing but the world breaking, the sky collapsing, the taste of salt and earth and copper as Daddy grips my arm beside me on the grass, bellowing at the top of his lungs and mute at the same time. Fire and light fill us and tear through us, our souls.

We’re gone.

---

I cannot hear, see, or feel. For minutes. For eons.

Everything turns white. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I reach for my father—for anyone—but there’s only empty space. My vision darkens. It’s black, now—black everywhere. Yet there’s a sense of warmth. Comfort.

I open my eyes.

I’m on a shoreline, flat on my back, naked. I sit up. Someone calls to me—a woman.

I stand. I’m taller, hairier, and much older, yet I walk towards her without shame.

When we approach, we lock eyes and study each other’s bodies. She takes my hand and guides me to a much smoother beach.

We sit and let water lap at our ankles. We watch the ocean continue to form and observe landmasses rise out of its depths. A new world comes to life.

The woman gazes at me with a knowing look.

I was there, too, she whispers.

For the breaking of the world? I ask.

She nods.

Then what is this?

We stare out at the purple sky, at the newborn islands and forests. Like children, they grow before our eyes.

I don’t know, she says. Another chance?

Beyond this, we’re both lost for words. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her.

We cry for all that was lost. Our bodies shake in silence, but the sun warms us—a gentle reminder that we are here now, wherever it may be. And, somehow, we have each other.

Time passes.

I try to remember my father’s face, but all I can recall is what he’d told me: It’s the beginning.

Perhaps he was right.

A sharp pain in my stomach startles me.

Hungry? the woman asks.

I nod. We should find something to eat.

She agrees.

So we stand, the sun at our backs, and scour the shallows of the sea.

Thank you for reading “The End and the Beginning” today.

If you’d like to join in on a writing exercise this Friday, January 24th, please see the prompt below. As always, Fifties by the Fire will go live at 3:00 PM EST.

Prompt: Write a fifty-word story (fiction, CNF, or poetry) about a beginning, an end, or both.

Have a wonderful week!