Word Count: 672
The world ended on a Saturday morning.
Janette was flipping pancakes on the cast-iron skillet on the stove. Her four-year-old daughter whined from the table, sitting in the highchair that she hadn't graduated from despite months of manners training. Pierre hadn't woken up yet, but the smell of breakfast always served as a reliable alarm clock.
The microwave clock read 9:13. It was white and had a shiny surface, free from the dents and oil stains that would probably accumulate very quickly after a few months of use. They'd bought it new from Amazon just last week, since the handle on the old one had broken one too many times.
She hummed a tune to herself as she slid a new batch onto the serving plate. It looked like it would be a lovely day. The sunrise that morning had been gorgeous—she often rose early on the weekend to see it, and it was always worth her time—and the few hot weeks of the summer were finally fading. Many Canadians enjoyed the rare heat, but Janette loved the weather of her native Quebec far more than any southern warmth. Her phone dinged with a notification. She glanced over but poured another set of pancakes onto the pan. Another ding. Then another.
"Mama!" Louise shouted. "What's that?"
"Hush, dearie," she said absently. "I'll get it in a minute." Sliding her spatula under the last of the pancakes, she gave her daughter a warm smile and switched off the burner flame. "Are you ready for some breakfast?"
Pierre walked into the kitchen just as she was carrying the pancake plate over. "Hello, love," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Careful!" she warned, setting the plate down on the table. "You're going to make me drop something." She gave him a playful smile.
Pierre didn't answer. His eyes were focused on her phone, the screen lit up by the notifications that had kept popping up.
"What's the matter?" Janette said, growing worried. "Are we having breakfast, or aren’t we?"
Pierre looked up, then glanced out of the window. "Get to the basement, now," he said, urgently. He grabbed Louise out of her chair and picked up Janette's phone, then stepped over to the basement door in the kitchen.
Janette followed, alarmed. "Pierre! What's happening?"
"The Russians launched missiles. We have to get underground as soon as possible." Pierre pulled open the door for Janette and met her eyes. There was fear in them.
A spike of terror shot through her heart.
The life they'd built would be gone in an instant. The tension that had been building up between the countries had finally snapped. And in a matter of minutes, they'd all be dead.
They hurried into the storm shelter and bolted the door behind them. Louise was crying, and Janette stroked her hair with trembling fingers. The family huddled together in the basement, waiting for the end.
Minutes later, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered.
Once, twice, their light dimmed. Then it went out entirely.
"Was there an explosion?" Janette whispered in the silence.
"I didn't feel anything," Pierre whispered back. He glanced down at the phone, but the screen had gone black.
"Mama?" Louise said. She held up her watch, a new electronic Minnie Mouse watch she'd gotten for her birthday. The face was blank.
Pierre stood up and unbolted the door and pulled it open to reveal the kitchen had gone dark. Janette followed, holding Louise's hand tightly. The only movement in the whole house was the ticking of the analog clock on the wall above the stove.
"What happened?" Janette said quietly.
"I don't know," Pierre said. "But I know we're alive."
The family embraced, and Janette cried soft tears in the silent morning. She didn't know why, but a feeling of dread was stealing over her. They'd survived, hadn't they? That was something to be thankful for. But she had a horrible suspicion that the effects of the attack had only just begun.
Janette was flipping pancakes on the cast-iron skillet on the stove. Her four-year-old daughter whined from the table, sitting in the highchair that she hadn't graduated from despite months of manners training. Pierre hadn't woken up yet, but the smell of breakfast always served as a reliable alarm clock.
The microwave clock read 9:13. It was white and had a shiny surface, free from the dents and oil stains that would probably accumulate very quickly after a few months of use. They'd bought it new from Amazon just last week, since the handle on the old one had broken one too many times.
She hummed a tune to herself as she slid a new batch onto the serving plate. It looked like it would be a lovely day. The sunrise that morning had been gorgeous—she often rose early on the weekend to see it, and it was always worth her time—and the few hot weeks of the summer were finally fading. Many Canadians enjoyed the rare heat, but Janette loved the weather of her native Quebec far more than any southern warmth. Her phone dinged with a notification. She glanced over but poured another set of pancakes onto the pan. Another ding. Then another.
"Mama!" Louise shouted. "What's that?"
"Hush, dearie," she said absently. "I'll get it in a minute." Sliding her spatula under the last of the pancakes, she gave her daughter a warm smile and switched off the burner flame. "Are you ready for some breakfast?"
Pierre walked into the kitchen just as she was carrying the pancake plate over. "Hello, love," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Careful!" she warned, setting the plate down on the table. "You're going to make me drop something." She gave him a playful smile.
Pierre didn't answer. His eyes were focused on her phone, the screen lit up by the notifications that had kept popping up.
"What's the matter?" Janette said, growing worried. "Are we having breakfast, or aren’t we?"
Pierre looked up, then glanced out of the window. "Get to the basement, now," he said, urgently. He grabbed Louise out of her chair and picked up Janette's phone, then stepped over to the basement door in the kitchen.
Janette followed, alarmed. "Pierre! What's happening?"
"The Russians launched missiles. We have to get underground as soon as possible." Pierre pulled open the door for Janette and met her eyes. There was fear in them.
A spike of terror shot through her heart.
The life they'd built would be gone in an instant. The tension that had been building up between the countries had finally snapped. And in a matter of minutes, they'd all be dead.
They hurried into the storm shelter and bolted the door behind them. Louise was crying, and Janette stroked her hair with trembling fingers. The family huddled together in the basement, waiting for the end.
Minutes later, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered.
Once, twice, their light dimmed. Then it went out entirely.
"Was there an explosion?" Janette whispered in the silence.
"I didn't feel anything," Pierre whispered back. He glanced down at the phone, but the screen had gone black.
"Mama?" Louise said. She held up her watch, a new electronic Minnie Mouse watch she'd gotten for her birthday. The face was blank.
Pierre stood up and unbolted the door and pulled it open to reveal the kitchen had gone dark. Janette followed, holding Louise's hand tightly. The only movement in the whole house was the ticking of the analog clock on the wall above the stove.
"What happened?" Janette said quietly.
"I don't know," Pierre said. "But I know we're alive."
The family embraced, and Janette cried soft tears in the silent morning. She didn't know why, but a feeling of dread was stealing over her. They'd survived, hadn't they? That was something to be thankful for. But she had a horrible suspicion that the effects of the attack had only just begun.