The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

Sax reminded us what yesterday was. I hadn’t realised, not even looking at this blog every day and seeing the dates roll by. In truth, I haven’t wanted to know just how much time has been passing; it means more days between me and the people I care about, more time for them to be lost in. I panicked a little when Ben asked me if I was afraid of being too late, because of course I am. It’s just that panicking about it doesn’t get me anywhere. It certainly doesn’t make the time any shorter, or make us able to move any faster.

Yesterday was Easter Sunday. I’m not a terribly religious person; I don’t go to church, and I haven’t thought about God lately. Not even with all that has happened over the past four months. I’ve seen people ask why this happened and how it could have happened, their eyes cast to the heavens. I’ve heard people cursing God in the darkness.

Here and now, we can’t know why. We don’t even know who let the bomb off or how it burnt the sky, let alone any celestial influences that might have been at play. There has been too much surviving to do for ethereal distractions.

 

I often thought that my name was ironic, considering my apathy towards religion. At least I didn’t completely rebel against it like my sister did with her name, but calling a girl ‘Chastity’ is asking for trouble. I never went to the lengths that she did to get away from the expectations.

It’s not that I don’t believe there’s a God; it’s just that He’s not a big part of my life. Yesterday wouldn’t normally hold a lot of significance for me. I know what it celebrates (the Christian reason, not just the chocolate and chicks), but it’s not a holiday that held any meaning for me before. Thinking about it now, I can feel a little catch in my chest. I look at it differently after last night.

Sax is one of those private, strong Christians, the sort of person that you never think of in terms of religion until he suddenly comes out with something beautiful and profound. That’s what he did. He sat down with us at dinner and asked if we would mind if he said Grace, out of the blue.

No-one has ever said Grace over our meals before. No objections surfaced, not even from the bowels of Masterson’s displeasure, so Sax nodded and began. I know I can’t do his speech justice, but I will try to capture a little of the magic he gave us.

 

Today, millennia ago, a promise to us was fulfilled.

Even after a terrible thing – the worst that anyone could imagine – had happened, proof that healing was possible showed itself. Life returned to a body that was supposed to be dead. Hope returned to walk among us. Grace was within reach of our eyes and ears again.

Now, so many years later, that example still speaks to us. Life continues where death reigns. Hope drives us forwards. Grace is there for those who are looking for it.

It is this knowledge that keeps us strong in the dark times. It is this story that helps us believe that healing will come. Each of us will find our own form of resurrection, even if it seems far too late.

None of us is alone, and none of us is truly lost.

Each of us will find our own grace.

 

As prayers go, it’s a strange one, but it touched us. It left a hush in its wake, its words hanging in the air and seeping into all of us. It sank into into our heads, greeted our memories, and made itself at home. I wasn’t the only one blinking back the urge to cry.

Masterson broke the reverence. He didn’t say anything; he just stood up and walked out. The words touched too close to his loss and drove him away.

His departure brought my head up and made me notice my new family again. Sax sat with his eyes closed, adding private words to those he shared with us. For his daughter. Ben was tight-lipped, holding back the storm in his head and the pain in his chest. Thorpe had his head tilted in such a way that his face was unreadable, but I knew that Trevor was on his mind. Alice touched the bandage covering the missing half of her face until she realised that it betrayed her thoughts, and then reached for her plate. Matt was staring at his food, his jaw taut and his arms wrapped around himself. Nugget looked at me for permission and took her plate up when I nodded, as solemn as always. Sally slipped away from the group to go after Masterson, and I realised what her bracelet was as she passed me: the wrap of beads around her wrist had a tiny cross suspended from the end, caught up between her fingers. I didn’t know she was Catholic until then. Dillon gazed around with eyes that didn’t know what to think of it all; I think we shared the same expression until we saw each other.

One by one, we picked up our food and ate. No-one said anything. Masterson and Sally came back after a while and joined us. He was a palpably boiling presence but he held his tongue. It wasn’t until the plates were cleared that we began to sit back and murmur to one another again.

Our world ended on the day that a certain man was born. Now, we find comfort in the day he came back to life. It makes a graceful sense.