Jethro was alone, as he always had been. He liked it better that way. Not had much in the way of validation in recent years, but he had no one left to impress. Life for him was simple. No one to rely on, and no one who relied on him.
His wife had passed away long ago, but he couldn’t remember how long it had been. The days, months, and years had started to blur together. That was the cost of his self-isolation, but he didn’t mind. Not really. It had been so long since he had seen another person, he wondered if anyone knew that he was still alive. It didn’t much bother him.
He had felt like a burden in his younger years. Try as he may he had never really shaken that feeling. It had been tough to cope with at first, but over time he had started to care less and less. However, the less he valued outside opinion, the harsher he was on himself.
The sense of dissatisfaction never left him. And eventually it leaked out into his professional life. Finding work had always been a struggle. He just couldn’t get himself to stick with something for long-term. It had always felt monotonous and restricting so he had tried his hand at many things. Becoming proficient at everything, but excelling at nothing.
His wife had stuck with him through it all. Jethro had never really understood why. But that had been a different time. One that was long past. The years then had been brighter, but he wouldn’t have called them happy.
After several decades, he still hadn’t found what he’d been looking for. Satisfaction had always been ever so elusive. He had come close several times but had never found it. It wasn’t asking for too much was it? Jethro hadn’t thought so, but the Universe didn’t seem to agree.
Thirty years of soul-searching, and he’d had nothing to show for it. So he had given up. Withdrawing within himself, he had closed himself off to the world. It wasn’t worth it to him anymore. He had given to the world what he could, and had received nothing in return.
Jethro had never really had a problem speaking with others, in fact he considered himself socially adept. But he had never liked people, and for most of his existence that dictated much of his social interaction. Over the years, he’d become more and more of a recluse. Life was easier that way, when there was no one left to disappoint.
The years leading up to his wife’s passing had not been great. They hadn’t fought much, but they also hadn’t spent much meaningful time together. Jethro had withdrawn too far, grown too aloof. Looking back on it, he wished that he would’ve approached things differently, but he had changed. He didn’t think it was for the better. But no use mourning for what was already lost. He had already moved on.
After she had died, he had packed up his belongings and had left home. He had gone off the grid, leaving most of his possessions behind—he no longer had use for them—only bringing whatever fit into his truck. He had no need for his past life.
He had driven as far as he could go, stopping when he could no longer hear the sound of civilization. There were no roads where he was, no buildings, no excavated land. He’d found his own patch of dirt, untouched by humanity. Unmarred, unblemished, unsoiled. That was exactly where he wanted to be.
Everything that Jethro had he built on his own. He didn’t know where he was, but he didn’t care. This cabin was his home. The garden around it was his own. This was his land and he’d be damned if anyone took it away from him. He had everything that he needed. No stress. No distractions. No obligations. But most importantly, no guilt. Free to focus on himself.
So, that fateful day in August was a day like any other. Jethro woke up an hour before sunrise as he often did. Out of habit, he put on his platinum watch, tapping a finger to the glass twice. It hadn’t ticked in more than a decade, but he had never bothered to fix it. It was a keepsake of a past life and nothing more. He didn’t need it to tell time. His internal clock hadn’t failed him yet.
It was when he was in the middle of his rounds that everything changed. He had finished checking his traps and was on his way to collect water from the nearby stream when chaos ensued. It started out as a rattling of dirt and pebbles. Odd. Jethro didn’t think he was in earthquake territory.
But it wasn’t an earthquake. It was something much worse. Out of the corner of his eye, Jethro saw a red ball streaking through the air. Heat radiated from it as it fell towards the ground. Jethro shielded his eyes—it grew brighter as it drew near.
Oh shit. He braced himself for the impact, but it swept him off his feet anyway. Ripples of air pulsed towards him, keeping him flat on his back. After about thirty seconds, there was a deafening boom followed by several thunderous cracks.
Jethro lay still, his ears ringing. That was when the screaming started. Not as far away from humanity as he had thought. Paradise shattered. Should I help? he wondered. Are there people to save? He was no hero, but could he leave people in distress? Would he feel guilty for his inaction?
Despite his better judgment he decided that he needed to investigate. He didn’t want to go, but he felt that he had to. Jethro quickly loaded supplies into the bed of his truck—some food, a few blankets, a shovel, a knife, his trusty hunting rifle, a handgun.
Once he was ready, he turned the key in the ignition, praying that his truck would start. It had been many years since he had driven it. At first, he was met with only a bunch of clicking—hopefully the battery hadn’t rusted over. Just my luck. The one time I need it to work.
Jethro got out of the cab, and opened the hood. Everything looked to be in order. After giving the dashboard a few hearty smacks, he tried again. The engine sputtered then came to life.
Figuring out which way to go was fairly straightforward. Towards the screaming seemed like a good bet. The trail of destruction wasn’t hard to follow. He drove past toppled trees and over rocky terrain. Thank God for all–wheel drive.
Before long, he reached the epicenter in a clearing devoid of trees. An odd sight considering the path of splintered forest he had followed to get there. Even odder was the fact that the screaming had stopped. It was only a few miles away from his cabin. He hadn’t needed to take a highway to get there, it was in unchartered land as he was.
But what he saw wasn’t what he had expected to see. There was no ring of fire, no crater of impact. Instead what he saw before him was a glowing yellow ball. It looked like a miniature sun but it gave off less heat than it had before.
Jethro got out of his truck slowly. No sudden movements. Without turning his back to the ball, he eased his way to the bed. He holstered his handgun, then pulled out his rifle as quietly as possible.
He waited thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. There was no movement, and no sound. Cautiously, Jethro crept towards the ball, finger resting on the trigger. As he drew to within twenty yards the ball started to rotate and hum. Jethro stopped walking, and crouched down. Aiming down the sights, he prepared for what was to come.
The humming grew to a whine as the ball spun faster and faster. It strobed from yellow to orange to red. Jethro looked down but not away, wishing that he had remembered to bring sunglasses.
After some time, the spinning orb began to slow. A circular door opened on the side, and glaring white light emanated from within. Jethro looked away, but not quick enough as spots were seared into his retinas. Surprisingly, he felt no pain.
A figure emerged, cloaked in darkness. Jethro couldn’t make out a face or any distinct features. It was like staring into a void. There was a light coming from behind the figure, but it was unclear where it came from.
The figure came towards him, stopping ten feet away. Looking upon it filled Jethro with a sense of dread and foreboding. Is this my last hour? He continued to aim down the sight of the barrel, but he was trembling so much that he didn’t know if he’d be able to take the shot.
The shadow-man lifted a hand. Jethro dropped his rifle as it became unbearably hot. He watched as it melted into slag, burning a hole in the ground. Jethro lowered himself to both knees, bowing his head. His end was near.
“Gift me the Earth,” the figure said.
“I-I-Its n-n-not mine to give,” Jethro stammered. His voice was raspy and gritty from years of disuse.
“GIFT ME THE EARTH,” the shadow-man said more forcefully.
“I cannot give what is not mine.”
“This planet has met its doom. You are the last one left. Its sole inhabitant.”
“Even still, I cannot give it to you.” If he had nothing else, Jethro still had his principles.
“Then the world will burn.”
“Do what you will. Take what you want. I will not stop you,” Jethro said.
“A planet must be gifted. It cannot be taken. Gift. Me. The. Earth.”
“I cannot.”
“Then we shall become one,” the shadow-man said, stepping closer to Jethro.
There was nothing left for Jethro to do or say, so he looked up at the shadow-man, accepting his fate.
“On your feet,” the figure commanded.
Jethro rose.
The figure laid a hand on Jethro’s forehead, so hot that it seared flesh. Jethro screamed. The burning continued for what felt like hours. Abruptly the sensation stopped, and with it came knowledge. Jethro knew what he’d been missing. Fire and flame was all that he needed. All the worlds would burn, for they needed cleansing.
JHUMWRITES—A Mental Health Blog 