2012

 
    My iWatch feels heavy on my wrist as dad drives along the highway, heading for my school. There's a parent teacher conference today, and dad is the one attending it. My older sister sits in the front. Her shrill voice hurts my ears, even with my headphones, and I fiddle with a button on the side of my iWatch, turning the sound up so high that Sweet Tragedy, my favorite band, is all I can hear.

  I glance out the window, watching buildings flash by. It's December, and the glass fogs where my breath touched it. I lift my hand, and gently press a finger to the steamed-up glass, creating swirls patterns in the mist, finger moving in time to the music in my ears.

  My eyes wander back to the road ahead. The cracked asphalt looks the same, every day. Worn out, and like it will fall apart if just one more car drives over it, cracks spreading across it like the milk I spilled at breakfast. The buildings are tall and gray, although I suppose they may have had some color, many years ago. But like with everything in the city, they turned gray long ago. Not even the sky has any color, except for gray. Reminds me of what the world is suppose to look like in The Last Book in the Universe. Gray and dead.

  My sister leans back and taps me on the side of the head, signaling I have to take off my headphones. I mutter curses under my breath as I pull the earbuds out of my ears, tugging them out of my watch and stuffing them in my coat pocket. My finger flits over my watch, pressing the pause as I take my sweet time. "Yeah?"

  "Tay," my sister says, pointing out the side window. "Look. There's something weird going on."

  "Is that why you interrupted my music, Ayla?" I ask irritably.

   "Don't fight, girls," dad chides, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "And Tay, just look out the window, please."

   "You need to see this too, dad," Ayla insists. I decide to humor her. I glance out of the window, and am about to turn to dad to complain that there's nothing there, when I see what Ayla is talking about.

  "Ayla…" I whisper, eyes widening a fraction, mouth hanging open. Goldfish style face. Lovely. "Is that…?"

  There's grass growing in the road. It looks young, not dried and filthy like most roadside plants. And it's growing, fast. Quickly, the small plants are spreading, racing down the road, much faster than our car.

  Twisting my neck, I look out of the back window. A carpet of pale green completely covers the road, tangling in tires so no other car can pass.

   "What is it, Tay?" dad asks, eyes fixed on the horizon. "See something?"

   "Dad, stop the car. Now," Ayla says suddenly, fumbling with her seatbelt.

   "What? Ayla, sweetie, I have to get to my—"

   "Dad," she cuts in. "Stop. Now."

   Dad looks at her nervously, but pulls over to the side of the road and turns off the car. "What is it?" he asks, fingering the key rings. The car keys jingles as it hits our house key. It reminds me of the horror movie I watched recently. The Music of Death, or something like that. A bell would ring, and someone would die. The keys clinking sound far too much like the death bell. I shiver involuntarily.

"Ayla?" Dad asks, drawing me out of my horror movie thoughts.

  "Look outside," I whisper, pointing out the window.

  Dad's tired gray eyes widen, shock spreading over his face in place of his exhaustion.

  In the middle of a small city, I hardly ever see plant life. Anything green is usually man made, or the plants are dried and brown. Even in the parks, plants are faded in color. But now…. I can see plants wrapping around skyscrapers, tall trees, elms, willows, pines bursting out of buildings and spreading rubble on the road. Grass coats the streets, and, on the sidewalk, I can see a mailbox, becoming completely covered with moss and fungi.

  People are climbing out of their cars, gaping at the spreading greenery before them. They stare as the plants grow to cover their cars, hiding it from view.

  I open my door and climb out. Ayla is already outside, kneeling in the grassy street. Dad is examining vines that are growing around a fire hydrant, crushing it. Water leaks out slowly, running to the grassy street. The small leaves absorb the water hungrily, growing larger before my eyes as dad slowly touches the plants, then jerks his hand back, as if he's been burned.

  "Tay," Ayla says suddenly, drawing my attention to her. She's still kneeling on the grass. "Tay, do you know what the date is?"

  I think for a second. "December 21," I say finally.

  "And the year, Tay."

  I glance at Ayla. She's caressing the plants gently, eyes half lidded as her fingers brush the delicate leaves.

  "2012…" I say slowly, wondering if she'll ever get to the point. Then it clicks. "Ayla, is this…?"

   "This is what the Mayans meant," she whispers. "Great change." She looks up at me, pale green eyes excited. "Nature is returning to itself. Plants are destroying what humans have built." She stares at the sky. The sun is forcing its way out behind the gray clouds, covering the ruined streets and disappearing buildings with warmth, driving the plants on. "Nature is taking over again."

  Buildings are crumbling slowly to the ground around us. People are yelling and running as we stand as still as stone, staring at the dying city around us as we watch the tiny plants conquer it all.

  Then suddenly, all is quiet. No more clattering of falling stones, no more frantic starting of engines. Ayla stands up. We're in a grassy field, so big that all I can see is the swaying stalks of grass and trees for miles, reaching up towards the cold winter sun. Rubble lies around us, small piles that are quickly disappearing under plants, creating tiny hills.

  Ayla smiles as she looks around, twisting her ponytail around a finger. A herd of buffalo makes it's way by us, slowing chewing. I can hear the munching noises. I wonder why they're here. They live in grassy plains, and there's a forest here, as well as grass. A fresh water streams runs near us, the gurgle loud and clear. People, our dad included, are staring at everything fearfully. Eagles call in the cloudy sky above us, voices harsh and clear. The air is crisp and chilly, forcing me to retreat deeper into my winter coat.

  I wonder what the point of this. Plants growing, destroying everything. Has it done this to the rest of the world? It wouldn't make sense, except for…

  "It's a chance to start over," I realize. "Everything humans use to pollute the world with is buried and destroyed."

  "We could dig stuff out," Ayla argues, bending down and trying to dig her fingers into the soil. The dirt is hard packed, and she can hardly scratch it. She growls at it, brow furrowing, and I try not to giggle at the look on her face.

  "By the time anyone manages to get anything up," I continue, "The world will have had a chance to heal."

  Ayla glares at me, clearly irritated. "You sound so corny, Tay."

  I glare back. "I'm ignoring that. Ayla, this is a chance for people to start over, without so many pollutants. And a chance for the animal population to grow. Because humans are helpless without tools, right?"

  She looks around again, smiling slightly as a breeze tugs at her hair. The wind blows a few strands of pale red hair into her wide gray eyes. "I suppose…" She doesn't finish her sentence, but I do.

  "This is for the greater good," I whisper, looking at the forest and plains again.

  She laughs and stands again, hitting the back of my head gently. "Let's go get dad, Tay," Ayla says, pointing at dad as I rub my hair reproachfully. He looks like he's about to cry. He's clutching the car keys to his chest as he watches the buffalo pass by him.

  The eagles call in the sky above me as we make our way across the field to dad, avoiding the other people. Their looks are of shock, while the children are laughing, splashing in the creek, climbing trees. The adults look fearful, confused, and haggard, not ready to deal with this. A few guys, maybe twenty, have the surfer look going for them. Probably lived in the tropics, came here to go to college. They don't care about what happened. They are herding the children to the parents, laughing and joking as they go. The surfers are probably the only adults here who aren't concerned about what they're going to do, now that everything we know is gone.

  A brisk breeze tickles my nose, smelling of grass. I wonder where the buffalo came from. I haven't seen any before, except in books. My teacher said they lived in the west, not here, where cities are everywhere, and the air tastes of old fumes.

  This air smells pure, or at least purer than the air I'm used to, and I watch as Ayla pats dad on the back, trying to reassure him it's not that bad. He doesn't like the wilderness. Avoids it like the plague, but now he's surrounded by it. Children run wild, followed by the surfers, as their parents mourn the loss of the buildings, the cars, the sidewalks.

  Are they blind? Can't they see it?

It's not the ending of the world. It's the beginning of it.