Ephemeris

1 : Bathed in Blinding Light

February 24, 2030

Dear Luna,

For the past few nights, my mind has been balling up thinking of you. I woke up early on this warm morning to start this letter in my head. I cannot find the right words to convey how deeply sorry I am for taking the life out of you.

The papers and pencils I am using right now were from Daddy. He sent it to me several months ago, for he knew I had the hand of an artist. But he never knew I had lost that passion because everything was growing messier day after day.

Now, I want to scribble down anything from my clouded mind—the past or the present. I want to bleed out my heart, regrets, and thoughts to talk to you.

The room is bleak, and there is a faint glow of distant light from the rising sun. But the brightest light that I have right now is your memory.

I know it's entirely my fault. It's my stupidity. I wish to revive you, but it's impossible. All that is happening right now—Mom is getting worse, Dad is at someplace unreachable, my loneliness, and the destruction of everything—I was the one to blame, a simpleton and a selfish 13-year-old boy that almost killed our mother. But you, you didn't survive. You, once a bundle of joy, brought bitterness since I sent you to limbo.

February 24, 2029, a Saturday, was the day we lost you. It was the same day the moon shattered. It comes back to me every time I recall the details of both events.

On January 13, a month earlier, NASA disclosed that a dark dwarf planet about Pluto's size would collide with our moon. Its accidental discovery surprised NASA and triggered the opportunity to study a dark celestial body up close. Space agencies around the globe sent satellites and instruments to answer all their curious questions. They had a month to gather facts and figures about why dark planets swallow light. Dad—a scientist and an astronaut—was one of them. He admired the beauty of the charcoal dwarf planet.

Scientists reassured that the destruction of the moon would not be a significant threat to the whole biosphere. The impact of the dwarf planet would release an incredible power enough to tear the moon into chunks. They said the debris from the collision would be insignificantly destructive. These chunks of rocks, small or large, would not eradicate humanity. Also, they reported that tides would be tinier than before, so surfing would be uncool. And our axial tilt would be unstable and make the Earth spin on its sides, but we would wait thousands of years to experience this.

To ease the worries and avoid the build-up of mass hysteria, NASA cleared all the hoaxes that were virally spreading through the internet. And they gave the public easy-to-understand explanations grounded on established scientific facts.

All leaders worldwide drafted their emergency evacuation plans and called the attention of all agencies for assistance and contribution. They reiterated the basics of survival to each community. It was astonishing that the eight billion men and women united and worked for the first time. Everybody was ready and patiently waited for the day the dark dwarf planet would strike the moon.

That day, Mommy washed a casserole dish at ten o'clock to cook my favorite sweet meaty spaghetti. I was dribbling my basketball near the refrigerator. I was panting, and my entire body was sweating.

The next second was the root of every chaos, and I regretted that exact second. The ball slipped through my sweaty hands and struck her severely. The glass casserole dish from her delicate hands flung into the air. She lost her balance and fell hard to the floor.

An ear-splitting shatter shook the silence of the kitchen. It quickened the beat of my heart. Looking down, a mess of warm pasta noodles, scattered pieces of glass, and spots of red blood dripping down from her trembling legs were on the tiled floor. I looked up slowly and saw her frightened face. She was bleeding out and catching her breath. Because of my pointless dribbling. Because of me. I immediately rushed to our neighbor and asked for help.

A woman with curly gray hair called an ambulance, rushed to our house and calmed our bleeding mother. The sirens were screaming, and the medics hurried to carry her. In a cloudy vision, they left in a dash. The old woman hung about, showing some concern. But she left me all alone late in the afternoon while I sat by the door, clasping my sweaty, cold hands.

It was my fault. I am a clumsy idiot.

I waited and waited, ate hot instant noodles, drank lots of sparkling water, and repeatedly cursed myself in the wind. News on all television channels and websites covered the moon's destruction at the predicted time of 8:13 the evening.

At eight o'clock, Dad phoned me and noticed my swelling eyes. Facing the phone screen, I looked at his tired blank corneas. He knew what had happened, and he knew that I had brought hell upon Mother and the baby. Father was speechless and was not quitting looking at my sobbing face.

I couldn't breathe. My throat dried up, so I rushed to our garden and watched the starry skies above. The moon was beautiful, radiating her remaining light. Then, my phone buzzed for the second time. In a trembling voice, Dad told me that the premature baby did not survive, gone.

I looked at the moon. And in a blink, the sky bathed in blinding light. The dwarf planet smashed the moon apart with stunning violence. Debris sprinkled far and wide, and your light was snuffed out. I cried.

I am so sorry that you didn't see the faces of Mom and Dad or breathe in the outside air. And there's no need to meet me—your brother and your murderer.

I am sorry.

Sincerely,

Daniel