CHAOS
Have you ever had one of those moments that stay forever imprinted in your mind? Sometimes it's a happy memory, but more often, the most traumatizing events stick harder. Today—or, more accurately, what was left of it— changed everything. It became an unforgettable moment for most of humanity.
The ride home with Grace was quiet, at least on the surface. Paul's mind kept circling back to the look Florence gave him. It seemed familiar somehow, though he couldn't recall ever seeing anything like it before, not in all the time they'd known each other.
He and Florence first met in secondary school and became friends almost instantly. Even back then, she was beautiful, the belle of God's love secondary school—though there was always a sadness about her, one that only he seemed to notice. You see, for as long as Paul could remember, he could feel the emotions of others flow into him like a tidal wave. And if that wasn't enough to traumatize any child on earth, he was unfortunately, also able to see through what was hidden in the shadows.
Once when Paul was eight, he got separated from his mum, Mrs. Jacinta Okonkwo, in the mall because he stopped to help a little girl he heard crying when they had passed aisle five. Her voice was so full of anguish that Paul being Paul could not ignore. He followed the sound, and the closer he got, the colder the air around him became. The biting cold warned him to stay back, but he couldn't bear the thought of her crying alone, so he kept going.
Finally, he found her, crouched around the corner, her face buried in her hands. She looked to be about his age. She cried relentlessly, calling out for her mother, though there was no one in sight.
"Hello," Paul called softly, trying to console her. "Don't cry. I'm sure you'll find your mum soon."
Just as he had finished his attempt at consoling her, the "girl" stopped crying and slowly looked up at him. Her eyes were hollow, devoid of life, and yet from somewhere deep within them, sorrow poured out in waves hitting him so hard he stumbled. Realization dawned on him even at his young age —her mum wasn't coming back.
"My name is P—" he began, but before he could finish, Mrs. Okonkwo yanked his right arm back.
"Honey! Are you okay? Oh God, I've been looking everywhere for you! Where did you go?" Her voice was frantic as she scanned him for scratches or bruises.
"Mummy, I think she's lost," Paul said, turning to point to the girl. But when he looked, she was gone—vanished, as if she'd never been there in the first place.
Mrs. Okonkwo's face went pale. Grabbing him tightly she led them as far away from there as she could. "Let's just go," she said firmly. Her voice shook a little. "What have I told you about giving your name casually to the others?"
"To never do that?" he mumbled, head bowed.
"Exactly." She said as they quickly left the mall.
From then on, Paul started seeing more of them—beings like that girl— both the ones his Dad talked to back home and everywhere else. The Others. They lingered in crowded places, watching, but rarely interfering. Some where once human, others were something else. Growing up with a few of the others at home, made him desensitized to the possible dangers they could bring; that is, until an incidence in secondary school.
Florence saved Paul back then. She had saved him from James, the ghost of a boy who had died on campus in the early 80s. According to school legend he was drowned by bullies after swimming practice. He managed to latch himself to earth with pure resentment and spent the rest of his undead life as a specter, just swimming at the depths of the constantly. He did nothing but swim mostly, except for the times some bullies almost "accidentally" drowned.
James was riled up by something when he directly attacked Paul. He couldn't fully remember the details of his rescue, but Florence had managed to calm James down with her violin. The details didn't really matter much to Paul, he was just relieved and happy he found someone his age who could see the others too.
From then on, they were inseparable.
Florence was like an ice princess then, her emotions hidden beneath a reflective wall. But as time went on, she opened up more, smiled and even laughed occasionally. Yet, no matter how much she changed, there was always something weighing her down. Now, though, it seemed worse.
Was it her memories I saw in the hallway? Paul wondered as he drove. Who was the man on the floor? And where did that sound come from? Questions swirled in his mind, but none had answers. Frustrated, he pushed the thoughts aside and tried to focus on the road.
"Paul, let's stop for pizza," Grace called from behind.
"I'm fine," Paul replied, guessing her real intention. She's probably worried I might hit something in my present state.
"Really, tough guy? Then why are you drowning me in edgy emotions?" she shot back with a smirk.
Paul didn't have a good response, so he chose silence.
"You better stop, or I'll tell Mum you put her pumpkin in danger because you couldn't think straight while driving."
Reluctantly, he pulled over at the next pizza place. "Fine. You win this time," he said, feigning annoyance.
"As I always do," she replied smugly, hopping off the scooter and striding into the pizza place.
Shaking his head, Paul left to park his scooter.
…
The pizza house door was plain, and its interior matched its simplicity. Paul scanned the room until he spotted Grace seated at a booth, already devouring an extra-cheesy slice of pizza.
This girl must be trying to bankrupt me. He thought as he made his way to her table.
"Did we stop here for me, or for that unending appetite of yours?" He asked, sitting down across from her.
"Why not both?" she replied, crumbs dotting the corners of her lips. "And by the way, Dad says my appetite is perfectly normal for a growing child."
Paul sighed and leaned back into his seat just as a young waitress approached with her notepad.
"Can I take your order, sir?" she asked, her voice shaky. She couldn't have been older than 18, and her nervous energy screamed "first day."
"I'll have what she's having," Paul replied, gesturing toward Grace.
As the lady nodded and turned to leave, he added, "You're doing great, Faith."
"How did you…?" she stammered, her eyes wide in surprise.
"Your name tag," he replied, pointing at the plastic badge pinned to her uniform.
"Oh… right," she mumbled, her cheeks blooming red as she hurried away.
Grace snorted. "Why bully the poor girl?"
"What bullying? I just tried to encourage her," He replied with innocence.
"A handsome stranger says her name and flashes her a smile… If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a womanizer," she teased, wiping her hands with a napkin.
"Exaggeration much?" Paul shot back, reaching for a slice on her plate.
Just then, the kitchen door swung open, and another waiter—a guy this time—brought Paul's order to the table. Grace shook her head as he walked away.
"See? She couldn't even bring your order herself. She's probably hiding in the kitchen, blushing her face off," Grace said, mimicking the accent of a proper British lady.
"Ridiculous," he muttered, but he couldn't hide his chuckle.
The siblings' attention shifted as someone switched on the TV mounted on the far wall. A news anchor's voice filled the space:
"Good evening, beautiful Nigeria… Here are the headlines…"
Most of it was the usual political drama, but one segment caught Paul's attention.
"The new religious movement, The Enlightened, is gaining traction nationwide. Prominent figures like Senator Damilola and renowned music icon Blue Hat have spoken publicly in support of the group…
It seems we've just received an exclusive video from their headquarters in San Diego. Viewer discretion is advised."
The screen cut to a man in elaborate robes, his smile wide and unnerving.
"Good evening, world. To believers and non-believers alike, welcome," he began, his voice smooth yet menacing. "We have been shown the light. The light of salvation. I'm here to guide you to restoration—to every desire you've ever dreamed of, no matter how obscene it may seem. We offer freedom without judgment because free will is sacred. Take what you want without guilt."
The room fell silent as his smile grew darker.
"Join us. Join me, your High Priest, as we journey toward enlightenment. I promise you… we will all be together in the end."
The video ended abruptly, leaving the news anchor visibly shaken. She fumbled to close the segment. "Well, that was… something… Thank you for joining us tonight. I am Jennifer Ogbonna. See you tomorrow."
For a moment, the pizza house was steeped in quiet. Then a customer broke the silence.
"This guy's a lunatic!" he exclaimed.
"Isn't this the same speech he's gives every month for the past 3 years?" another muttered.
An elderly man shook his head solemnly. "The world's going to hell. Mark my words. This is just the beginning."
Paul leaned closer to Grace. "It's late. Let's get out of here," he whispered.
She nodded, and they both stood up, leaving the table behind. Just as they reached the door though —
The world crumbled around them.
…
The sound of a mother's scream filled the pizza house, piercing through the air like a dagger. It was a sound unlike any other—a sound of pure, raw despair. Shock and fear gripped everyone, pulling Grace and me to attention. Half the place was gone, vanished into thin air.
Paul turned to the chaos that erupted in the aftermath. A woman sat on the floor, wailing frantically, her trembling hands clutching a tiny, abandoned shoe—her missing child's, no doubt. A young husband stumbled between tables, yelling his wife's name, his voice thick with desperation. Nearby, a boy, no older than thirteen, sobbed uncontrollably, clutching a photo of his missing mother as if holding onto her memory would somehow bring her back.
It was madness—raw, unfiltered madness.
Before both of them could even begin to process what was happening, the earth beneath groaned, a low, ominous rumble that sent shivers up everyone's spine. It was as though the very planet itself was convulsing in agony. The violent shaking began seconds later, throwing plates, chairs, and people to the ground. Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls, splitting apart the ceiling above. Dust rained down in suffocating clouds as the pizza house threatened to collapse.
This place won't hold much longer Paul thought, instinctively grabbing Grace's hand and pulling her toward the door.
"Paul, what's going on?" Grace's voice trembled as she clung to him, her wide eyes darting from the crumbling walls to the pandemonium around us.
He hesitated to answer, his mind racing. He knew the answer—or at least, he had a hunch. Anyone who'd ever had Christianity pass through their lives, even in the smallest way, would recognize what this was. It was the day of reckoning, the day of prophecy fulfilled. The day of those taken… and those left behind.
It was the dawn of the end.
The world outside was in chaos. The streets were filled with people—some sobbing on their knees, others frantically shouting for loved ones who had vanished into nothingness. Lightning forked across the sky in jagged streaks, illuminating the terror-stricken faces below. Thunder followed, a deafening roar that seemed to echo the cries of the forsaken.
Behind, the pizza house let out one final groan before collapsing into a pile of rubble. The few that managed to stumble out in time, clutched each other as they stared back at the ruins in horror. But most—too many—were buried beneath the weight of the building.
"Paul, we need to help them!" Grace's voice broke through the noise, her hand tugging his. Her eyes, brimming with tears, were fixed on a young boy trapped under a fallen beam. His small hand reached out feebly, his cries barely audible over the chaos.
Paul met Grace's gaze and hesitated. His heart twisted painfully at the sight of the boy, but he couldn't let himself falter. Not now.
"Grace…" he started, his voice heavy with guilt. "It's not that I don't want to help—it's just that… If this is what I think it is, we have to find Mom and Dad as soon as possible."
She froze, her eyes darting back to the boy. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to argue, but no words came.
"Grace," He called softly, stepping closer to block her view. He placed his hands on her tear-streaked face and bent down till his eyes bored straight into her's. "Zero your mind. Feel only what I feel—that's all there is. Okay?"
She nodded hesitantly, her shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress her sobs. Paul closed his eyes and focused, conjuring up the most beautiful images he could imagine—the warmth of the sun on their faces during a family picnic, the sound of Grace's laughter echoing through the house, the smell of their mother's cooking wafting through the air.
After a few moments, she whispered, "Thank you."
"Let's go home," He said firmly, leading her to the scooter.
Just as he started the engine, the sky above flickered unnaturally, like a broken light bulb on its last legs. The stars dimmed and disappeared one by one, as though plucked from the heavens by an unseen hand. The moon loomed large and eerie, now bathed in a deep crimson hue that seeped across the night like blood pooling on dark silk.
A chill ran down Paul's spine, but he forced himself to focus. He wouldn't let anything distract him—not the collapsing buildings, the screams and not even the dying sky.
He had one mission: to get Grace home. And he wasn't going to let anything—or anyone—stop him.
…
Driving through these once peaceful streets, now steeped in violence, felt unsettling—frightening even. The chaos that enveloped the world was surreal, the streets were drenched in an ominous red glow cast by the blood-stained moon. Its eerie light bathed everything, accentuating the madness, as if the heavens themselves bore witness to the fall of humanity.
People ran frantically, their desperation palpable. They looted the stores that still stood, their shattered windows spilling goods onto the sidewalks. Trash fires blazed in the middle of the streets, casting dancing shadows on cracked walls, while mobs of people screamed and fought over scraps of food or meaningless trinkets. It was chaos—a scene ripped straight from a cinematic apocalypse, except this was all too real.
Above the streets, Paul caught glimpses of individuals climbing onto rooftops. Some hesitated before leaping, while others threw themselves off without a second thought. But death wouldn't come. He knew that much. She had been subdued. Their broken bodies twitched and convulsed, writhing in immeasurable pain that would not bring the release they sought. This was the curse humanity had been bestowed.
Grace clung tightly to her brothers back as he steered his scooter through the madness. Her face was pressed against his jacket, shielding her from the horrors Paul himself couldn't escape. He was grateful she couldn't see this— at least not yet. In a world such as this, he knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to face the harsh reality, but for now, he was happy he could protect her from it.
Suddenly, Paul's phone rang. The shrill sound cut through the pandemonium like a beacon. For a fleeting moment, he felt relief—it meant that at least some part of the world's infrastructure was still intact. Finding a relatively clear spot, he slowed the scooter to a stop.
"Why'd we stop?" Grace asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"I have to answer this," He replied, pulling the phone from his pocket.
It was a video call from their Father, Mr. Leo Okonkwo, and Paul's heart skipped a beat as he answered.
"Oh, son, is that you?" Mr. Okonkwo's voice came through, hurried and anxious.
His face on the screen was a mix of worry and relief, though Paul could sense sadness beneath the surface. Mr. Okonkwo had hoped they'd vanished along with the chosen. That would mean less to worry about.
"Where's your sister? Was she chosen?"
"I'm here, Daddy," Grace chimed in, leaning into the camera's view with a grin.
Mr. Okonkwo's face softened as he saw her, his tension momentarily easing. "Hi, sweetheart. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Daddy. Where's Mum?" she asked eagerly, her small hands gripping the phone as if it could bring her closer to him.
Mr. Okonkwo's expression grew somber. "She… Mummy was chosen," he said, his voice laden with mixed emotions. "You must have seen others vanish the same way. It means she was chosen. She's doing just fine."
Grace's smile faltered, and her grip on the phone slackened. "But… she's gone."
"She's safe, sweetheart," He reassured her. "I'll explain everything once you're home, okay? Can I have a word with your brother?"
Grace hesitated but handed the phone over.
"Sir?" Paul said, holding the phone steady.
"Paul," Mr. Okonkwo's voice shifted, firm and commanding, "make your way back home as fast as possible. Seal the gates once you're inside, and remember your training."
His tone left no room for hesitation. "The fact that both of you are still here suggests my theory was correct. There's still something I have to do before I can come home, but I should be back by six tomorrow evening. If I'm not—"
"You know my orders," Paul finished for him.
"Good," he said, but his sigh betrayed his regret. "I'm sorry for what you two have to go through because of me. Just… stay safe. And Paul?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I love you both. Never forget that."
The call ended abruptly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Their mother was gone, and their father sounded like a man on a suicide mission. A sinking feeling deep in his gut told him it would just be him and Grace for a long time.
The distant roar of the mob snapped Paul out of his thoughts. The chaos was closing in.
"Let's go," He urged, his voice steady despite the storm raging within.
They sped off, weaving through the madness as the world around seemed to collapse. All he could think of was getting Grace home safely. No matter what, I won't let this world take her from me.