orion

243 days after the incident

Lucky are those who died. Are they? I’m still deciding that. I was one of those who survived. Some people say we were spared to suffer the great tribulation. Religious people. I’m rolling my eyes right now, just so you know.

I still see hope—not for this world. This world is gone; humanity finally managed to destroy it. Finally. But a new world, a better one, built on the ashes of this old world, by someone more responsible than our current leaders.

At this moment, I find myself in Refugee Camp Zeta, one of thousands spread across the world. In this case, I’m on a small island in New Zealand, a quiet place. We are 174 days after the incident, as you saw in the title. Jesus hasn’t returned yet to take His people, and the Earth destroyed itself.

Unfortunately, the actual date of the incident was erased. So I will narrate this book as before and after the incident—the day humanity entered such a great religious war that thousands of innocent lives were lost. The day our world was destroyed.

People call it the end of the world. Honestly, I think the real end of the world is still yet to come. I see this as a preparation for what lies ahead.

I look at the constellation Orion above me—so beautiful, so majestic. Under this constellation, Jacob slept and dreamed of a ladder reaching to heaven, with angels upon it. It was in this constellation that a simple woman once had a vision and saw Jesus returning for her. The most beloved constellation for those who still await the return of Jesus to transform this fallen world into a better one.

And now I look at it… and I begin to remember.

64 days until the incident

It was a beautiful November morning—I don’t remember the exact day. I woke up in my apartment. It was raining heavily outside. I didn’t have a TV, but I opened a news website to check the day’s headlines.

It was the same as always: conflicts in the Middle East intensifying, with Iran threatening to destroy Israel—the usual nonsense. Waves of protests across England, the United States, and São Paulo, something that had become frequent with the wars in the Middle East.

I didn’t want to stress about it. I was in too good a place in life to think about war. I had just finished paying off my apartment, I had a nice car on financing, I worked part-time as a teacher and part-time as an Uber driver—I liked both.

And as if that weren’t enough, to complete my happiness, I had two beautiful daughters whom I had adopted just over seven months ago.

No, I wasn’t married, and I had no interest in relationships. But I loved children, so I decided to adopt two lovely girls—one six years old and the other twelve. I only wanted the six-year-old; the twelve-year-old came as a bonus. They were sisters and lived in the same orphanage. The younger one was fair-skinned with thick red hair, while the older one had blonde hair.

They were incredibly happy when they found out I was adopting them, since no one wanted them due to a certain degree of autism.

I closed my notebook and put water on to boil. I taught classes in the afternoon at the Federal Institute, and early in the morning I started my Uber shift after taking the girls to school.

“Are you already awake, Daddy?” I heard a voice.

Little Paulinha was standing there, holding a pink teddy bear and rubbing her eyes. She was wearing her pink pajamas.

“Hi, baby. Why did you wake up so early?”

“Nightmare.”

Their names were Maria Paula, the youngest, and Maria Natália, the oldest.

I picked her up.

“Are you still scared?”

“A little.”

“Tell me about the nightmare.”

“I saw bombs falling on our house. Dead people. It was really scary.”

I think I’ve been leaving my computer open too much.

“It’s over now, baby. Go back to sleep. I’ll make breakfast soon.”

I kissed her forehead, and she went back to her room.

I prepared breakfast—hot barley drink with toast. I made their plates. One liked toast with mayonnaise, while the other preferred toast with jam. I filled their mugs with chocolate milk and turned on some music.

A few minutes later, they came out of the room, already dressed and freshly bathed.

“Ready for school, girls?”

Natália let out a yawn.

“It’s the first day of school, Dad. We’re never ready.”

I laughed. After a good breakfast, I took them to school—an evangelical school in the neighboring city.

“Dad, why do we have to study in a school in another city?” Natália asked.

“Because I don’t trust the regular education system much,” I said, smiling at her. “You’ll like it there. And if you need anything, you have the phones I bought you.”

They showed me their phones—simple flip phones.

“Why can’t we have smartphones?” Paulinha asked.

“When you’re older and more responsible, I’ll get you smartphones. Until then, these are enough. Okay?”

They nodded.

I lived in the city of Petrolina, in an apartment in one of the four buildings in the Cohab Massangano neighborhood. The city sits on the banks of a river that separates the state of Bahia from Pernambuco. On the other side lies the city of Juazeiro, a historic city connected to Petrolina by a bridge. And at that moment, traffic was terrible.

I looked at the line of cars—it seemed like an accident had happened in the middle of the bridge. The cars were moving slowly.

“So slow!” Paulinha said.

“I know. Next time we’ll go by boat.”

Finally, traffic started moving, and we continued to the school.

After giving them both a kiss, I waited with the app on for a ride request. I plugged in a USB drive, and a Casting Crowns song started playing.

Soon, the app beeped. Someone two blocks away was requesting a ride. When I arrived, it was an older man wearing a raincoat and a hat. He held a bag, had a beard, and dark eyes.

“Man, you saved my life. Today’s weather is terrible.”

Indeed, the heavy rain had turned into an even stronger downpour.

“Terrible day to be out,” I said.

“Yeah. Hey, are you Jewish?”

I looked at the Star of David—a small necklace a Jewish child had given me once when I drove her home. I had hung it on the car’s rearview mirror.

“Actually, I’m a Zionist—I support the state of Israel.”

“So, did you see the news? Iran is threatening to drop a nuclear bomb on Israel.”

The car had entered the main road toward the bridge.

“That’s crazy. If Iran does that, it’ll trigger an unprecedented nuclear war. The United States will respond. Then China, Russia—it’ll be World War III.”

“I know, it sounds insane. But after the incident in Tel Dan, where Iran’s supreme leader died, allied countries are all supporting a nuclear escalation against Israel.”

Not many days earlier, Iran’s supreme leader had been killed in Tel Dan, Israeli territory, during a peace conference between nations. Israel denies responsibility, but Iran, Iraq, and several other countries—including Brazil—accuse Israel of betrayal.

Still, a nuclear escalation was something absurd to even consider.

We crossed the bridge, and I dropped the man off at Simão Durando Square, in front of Maria Auxiliadora School.

“Look, man—you seem like a good guy. Take this card and go to the address on the back. Maybe it can save your life.”

I looked at the card. It read: Twilight of the World Community—salvation awaits in the flame. On the back, there was an address.

“What is this—” I started to ask, but the man had simply vanished.

I put the card away and moved on to the next ride.

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