The Broken Moon

Humanity’s indulgence and its hunger for more meant that, while trying to drill into the Moon on an ordinary day — important to humankind but indifferent to every single human being — the drilling went wrong, tearing the Moon in half and setting it on an imminent collision course with Earth.

No alarm went off until much later. Why would it? You could just look up at the sky and see a piece of the Moon coming straight at you.

It was 6:30 a.m. Dawn was breaking. I remember waking up; dad had gone to his carpentry shop a few streets from home. It was big and smelled of thinner. He’d been making doors for some rich client, twenty-three of them, all varnished.

Mom was cooking. She always said every meal mattered, but for some reason she was making her best dish that day: potatoes with chorizo. She cooked so well — maybe it was fate trying to give me one last gift before I died.

My sisters were putting on makeup. I heard they were going to a mutual friend’s party. I never liked parties, so I wasn’t going with them. I just sat on the edge of my bed watching them get ready. I remember seeing both their hair shine in the dawn light.

I was only thinking about what I’d do that day. Wondering if I’d do well in college. I’d passed the entrance exam — officially a university student now. I didn’t feel anything, no excitement, no sadness. I just existed.

I remember stepping outside to watch the sunrise when I saw the Moon. Today was the big day. How had I forgotten? I ran for my telescope, set it up, and pointed it at the Moon. There it was. In a few minutes, humanity would drill into parts of the Moon, having discovered a deposit of methane gas. We could use it as fuel and as a springboard for space travel.

Watching the Moon, all I could think was that someday I’d do something just as important. I’d look back and see the Earth shrinking away as I set off toward another planet. Not to abandon it, but to expand it. Such desolation swept over me when I saw the Moon was moving. Scared, it took me twenty minutes to verify and process what I was seeing: the Moon had literally split in two, and one half was coming our way.

I ran to Mom. She was cooking, and I told her:

—MOM, THE MOON IS FALLING!

Of course, she thought it was a game and kept chopping potatoes, but when she saw my face — crying, full of panic — she went outside to look. She went silent. I don’t blame her. I would have too. Half the Moon was closing in; it was entering the atmosphere. Mom fell to her knees and cried like I’d never seen her cry. I was more afraid for her than for the Moon.

I screamed my sisters’ names. Hearing Mom’s desperate crying, they ran to the door where she was kneeling, with me standing beside her, staring at the Moon. Why had this happened? Had I wasted my whole life? Should I have done something different? Why is this happening to me?

That’s what I was thinking as a giant piece of our Moon drew closer. When my sisters came running, they asked what had happened. I just pointed at the Moon. They went silent. My older sister tried to call her boyfriend, but of course nothing worked anymore. In her desperation she said she’d go find him. I stopped her. I wanted to spend my last minutes with the family I’d wanted so badly to escape.

I remembered Dad. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, since his shop was a big warehouse. I told Mom to stay with my sisters, that I’d go get him. She didn’t say anything.

I told the girls: —Take care of her, I’m going for Dad on the bike.

I got on the bike and pedaled as fast as I could. I got there and Dad wasn’t around. I panicked. That’s when the first impact hit: a piece of debris, tiny compared to the Moon bearing down on us. Everyone realized what was happening. Stunned, some cried, some screamed, some prayed.

Dazed by all the noise, I kept looking for Dad. I couldn’t find him, and the Moon kept getting closer. It felt like I could touch it any moment. I thought about keeping up the search, but there wasn’t enough time left to get back to Mom. I imagined the worst. In a burst of desperation, following my heart, I went back to Mom and my sisters.

When I got there, they were frozen in place. Mom, seeing me, hugged me tight. All she said was “I’m sorry,” and kept holding us. Another piece of debris fell nearby. I could hear people screaming and others crying. I looked up at the sky: it was imminent, I was about to die.

Suddenly Dad arrived. I saw him. I’d never had a warm relationship with him, but in that moment all I could do was hug him. He hugged me back, and we all held each other again.

In that instant I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes; I could only see what I might have been. I was scared and angry. I was an atheist; I knew there was nothing after death, and that scared me more. I didn’t want to disappear. I was afraid. So afraid.

Alarms started going off. The first big chunk landed far in the distance, but we still felt the impact. And here comes the sun. Still beautiful in its rising. I realized how insignificant we are, despite believing everything revolves around us.

Forty minutes after the drilling, the entire human race was dead. The International Space Station, in an attempt to preserve our species, headed for the nearest habitable planet, but Earth itself, tearing apart, collided with it, killing every human being left in the universe.

I open my eyes. I wake up sweating from what just happened. I run to look at the Moon and it isn’t there. I hear Mom calling me for breakfast. I run in and sit at the table Dad built. I look at her: it’s her, acting so normal. I don’t understand what’s happening.

My sisters arrive in dresses, made up, chatting with each other. Mom serves us breakfast. Just then Dad comes in, washes his hands, and sits beside me. Mom finishes serving.

I don’t know what’s going on, but tasting Mom’s food again with my family is all that matters to me. I pick up the spoon, take a bite, and yes, just as I expected: it’s the best meal Mom has ever made.