23

Wednesday, July 4, 1990

I sat on my small balcony, a cup of Earl Grey in one hand, the Daily Bugle in the other. Summers were always a little calmer in the area, what with all the NYU students back home for their break. And despite being the middle of the summer, it was a shockingly pleasant day out. We'd had rain from the middle of the night into the early morning, which killed the humidity, leaving scant few clouds in the sky. And with the courts closed for the day, I had nowhere to be until this evening.

It was a perfectly pleasant day.

Then the clouds spread out. I frowned slightly, taking a sip of my tea. Really? On the Fourth of July? Couldn't they just take a break for one day to let us enjoy ourselves? I watched the clouds as they formed a perfect silver-lined blanket over the skies, and had to squint when the clouds got weird.

Were they getting darker? Storm clouds? No, wait, that wasn't… that looked like concrete up there, now. Was that even possible? Wait, was it cracking now? How would that—

I heard something break. Confused, I looked around, and saw my mug on the floor of the balcony, shattered to pieces. What? When did I drop that?

I bent over to pick up the pieces. Something red dripped into the spilled tea, and I felt something wet on my lip. I brought a hand to wipe the liquid away, and it came back red.

A nosebleed? I pinched my nose shut and stood, looking up—

The clouds were gone, parted. No – shattered. I stared up at the sky.

HE stared back.

I could hear them, carried on a wind that didn't blow. The voices. The screams. The passing of thousands of peoples, on thousands more worlds. It was too much.

It was too much.

There weren't eyes—not at first. Just two great spotlights staring down at me—past me, through me. I was just an ant. No... less. Less than an ant. Before that baleful gaze, I was less than dust.

The face came next, and it, it... it was —

The words didn't exist.

My eyes saw the face of a man, eyes shadowed by a horned crown, mouth impassive and calm. But my mind.

My mind saw differently.

There wasn't a face there. There were thousands.

A thousand, thousand faces, for an uncountable number of eyes.

This form, this, this thing... he, IT wasn't there, in truth. It was just, just window dressing. Something for us to see. This was no giant man in a suit. That was just how my eyes saw it – how our eyes saw it.

Because the truth was too much for minds as mortal as ours.

I couldn't—

MY JOURNEY IS ENDED

THIS PLANET SHALL SUSTAIN ME UNTIL IT HAS BEEN DRAINED

SO SPEAKS -GALACTUS-

I was on the floor. Closed the door behind me – was I still bleeding? No, I needed… where was it? My purse, it was in my purse, where was my purse. At the door? At the door. Stand up. I needed to get it from my purse, by the door.

Needed to walk. One foot in front of the other.

My nose wouldn't stop bleeding. There was blood on my nightgown. God, that was going to stain, wasn't it? No, focus. Noa. Keep walking.

What was that noise? It was too loud. It was so loud – why was it so loud.

Existence shuddered. A small pinprick of Light, in a vast expanse of darkness. That was me.

What hope did I have in the face of this void? The Devourer?

We are all so very small.

I, I fell. Tripped.

My face was all crusty. Something on the floor in front of me, dry, brown. Flaky. How long was I?

No. Still by the door. Had to get up, get it. I pushed myself up, tried to stand.

Too heavy. I stumbled, fell forward. It hurt, but I was closer now. Just a little bit more. Twenty feet.

Upon it I laid eyes unseeing. A great tower of silver and glass and twisting other, rising above the horizon. A wonderful, terrible machine. An impossible spire, an impaling spear through our Earth. But this was no Tower of Babel, though it rose to the heavens.

O'er us hung the Sword of Damocles, angling for its final stroke.

THE CONVERTER

NOT IN A THOUSAND THOUSAND YEARS HAS IT FAILED

WHY DO YOU YET RESIST

NO MATTER

LET THE -PUNISHER- APPEAR

My fingers closed around my purse. I pulled. My coat hanger fell, my purse spilling open.

My fingers closed around it. The mezuzah. It glowed, softly. Just a little light.

"Baruch ata Adonai… eloheinu melech ha'olam—"

Blessed are you, O God, King of the Universe.

"—asher kidishanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu, likbo'a mezuzah…"

Who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to affix a Mezuzah.

And when He seeth the blood upon the lintel and on the two sides posts, He will pass over the door, and will not suffer the destroyer to come into your houses to smite you—

I DO NOT WISH TO HARM YOU HERALD

PLEDGE YOURSELF TO ME ONCE MORE

SWEAR ALLEGIANCE TO -GALACTUS-

I held onto that little light.

I held on. I prayed.

I—

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

Please, God.

... IN THE HANDS OF A -HUMAN-