Day Filled With Glory (and annoying people)

Another morning begins, same from the last.

I wake up to the dim glow of dawn filtering through my curtains. The world hums with routine—water splashing in the sink, the rustle of fabric as I dress, the muted creak of the front door swinging open.

Outside, the sky is a perfect, endless blue, unmarred by the weight of impending doom. Birds trill their songs, oblivious. The air carries the scent of fresh earth and warm pavement, life moving forward as if nothing is amiss.

No one knows they're minutes away from dying.

I walk to school, hands tucked in my pockets. A truck roars past, speakers blasting a song I don't recognize. A kid stumbles on the sidewalk, and couple stands at the corner, voices sharp, arguing over something none of my business.

It's all the same.

But above—high above—something stirs.

I glance up. The sky is the picture of calm—blue, cloudless, undisturbed.

But it is not peaceful. Not at all.

Somewhere beyond the stratosphere, a massive rock—roughly the size of a city block—cuts through space at 40,000 miles per hour. It wasn't meant to be here. Not today. Not in this timeline.

Someone must have nudged it off course.

A mistake? A test? A warning?

It doesn't matter.

At this speed, the atmosphere won't stop it. It won't break apart. It will hit. Hard. The impact will erase cities, the shockwave swallowing half the country in an instant. Millions will die on impact. The rest will face slow, agonizing ends in the ruins left behind.

I sigh.

I am not done here yet.

With a thought—a small, effortless thought—the asteroid stops.

Not slows. Not deflects.

Stops.

Time wraps around it, holding it still.

Far above the planet, the massive rock hangs motionless, unseen and unnoticed. An impossible weight, suspended in the void, waiting.

Waiting for me to decide its fate.

I pause, considering. Should I let it crash? Should I watch?

No. Too soon.

With a flick of my fingers, the asteroid shifts. No grand display, no blazing trails across the sky—just a quiet redirection. It drifts back into the void, erased from existence as if it had never been here at all.

A minor adjustment. Subtle. Unnoticed.

Then, the world continues.

The truck rumbles down the road, its music fading into the distance. The kid groans, brushes the dirt from his knees, and moves on. The couple's argument drags on, their voices sharp but meaningless.

No one realizes they were seconds from annihilation.

Not even a hint of unease. No strange feelings. No prophetic dreams. No doomsday warnings on the news.

Because to them, nothing happened.

And that's how it should be.

I keep walking, hands still in my pockets.

I am bored again.

And the gods have probably heard me complaining.

A school event planning greets me the moment I step inside.

I should've seen this coming.

I should've made an excuse. Skipped school. Faked an illness. Moved to another planet.

But no. I'm here. Stuck in a classroom overflowing with unnecessary enthusiasm.

"Alright, my dear comrades, my people! This is our moment!" Alex claps his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. His voice is way too loud for this early in the morning. "We need an idea so unique, so mind-blowingly awesome, that our booth becomes legendary! Something exciting! Something unforgettable! Something that'll have everyone talking about us!"

Here he goes again.

Alex.

He is the human embodiment of a sports commercial—short messy brown hair that somehow always looks effortlessly styled, bright green eyes that practically radiate confidence, and a permanent, easygoing grin…

like he just won a championship no one was even competing in.

His skin is tanned from too much time flexing in the sun, his build annoyingly perfect, as if he was sculpted by the gods of protein shakes and optimism. He struts around in his signature jacket—gold and green.

Because of course, he needs to look like a walking school spirit poster—paired with a plain white t-shirt and brown pants.

Everything about him screams unstoppable enthusiasm, and it's exhausting just being in his presence.

Abigail, leans back in her chair, smirking. "Horror house."

I stared at Abigail. She act too edgy it cringes me.

Her violet hair is a tangled mess of waves, like she either just rolled out of bed or spent an hour making it look effortlessly chaotic. Her choppy bangs frame sharp, her amethyst eyes that constantly flicker between boredom and trouble—like a cat deciding whether to knock something off a table.

She's pale, but not in a dramatic, haunting way—more like she avoids the sun out of spite. Her outfit is the usual try-hard gothic: a dark blue corset-style top with unnecessary black laces, paired with jeans so dark they practically absorb light. A short-sleeved indigo jacket adds another layer of edge, and of course, she wears a black choker, as if that alone confirms her membership in the "misunderstood goth" club.

"Too common!" Alex groans, throwing his head back, dramatically falling onto his desk, like he's just received the worst news of his life.

"Every single year, someone does a horror house! We need something bold! Revolutionary! A booth so fresh, so groundbreaking, that future generations will sing songs about it!" He wailed, with his arms sprawled out as if he's physically wounded by the lack of creativity.

Sebastian scoffed "Horror house. Classic."

Abigail shrugs, completely unbothered. "What's fresher than the fear of the unknown?"

"I hate to agree with Alex, but," Sam chimes in, leaning back in his chair, "he's got a point."

Alex immediately shoots up, puffing out his chest like he's just been energized. He places a hand over his heart, looking skyward as if accepting some grand destiny. Determination blazes in his eyes.

"Okay, but what if—listen to me, guys—we build a full-scale, real-life medieval coliseum? Gladiator battles! Fire-breathing animatronic dragons! A working catapult that actually launches people—safely, of course! It'll be legendary!"

The room falls silent.

Is he for real now.

Abigail blinks. "You want us to commit several crimes."

I agree with the Spooky Girl.

The room erupts into groans.

"Absolutely not," Sebastian mutters, rubbing his temples like he's getting a headache just from hearing Alex talk.

Leah forces a polite smile. "That sounds… ambitious! But, uh, where exactly are we getting a working catapult?"

Emily shakes her head. "Yeah, and who's going to build this medieval death trap? Because I'm not getting sued."

Haley crossed her arms while holding a mirror. "That is so not cute." then, continues to put on a mascara.

Sam leans back in his chair, sighing. "Look, man, I love the enthusiasm, but unless you've got a hidden castle somewhere with knights ready to go, it's not happening."

Alex dropped his arms, looking genuinely offended. "Wow. No faith in the vision."

I sighed.

This conversation is a disaster—zoning laws, budgets, and the shocking revelation that launching students into the sky might be illegal.

I glance at the door, calculating. If I leave now, no one will notice. They're too busy debating nonsense. I could slip away, vanish like common sense in this room, and—

"Avaris!"

Too late.

Every head turns toward me.

I stare back, blankly.

Alex, still beaming like he just appointed me as his second-in-command, leans forward. "What do you think we should do?"

Why me? I blink. "No."

Silence.

Alex tilts his head, hopeful. "No…?"

"No."

A pause. Then, Sebastian snickers. "She's saying no to participating at all."

Sam smirks, nodding in approval. "Respect."

Angel, from across the room, crosses her arms, all self-righteous. "That's not fair, Avaris. Everyone has to help."

Her little fan club nods like synchronized puppets.

"Omg! Let her, guys! Y'all too much." Haley said, still putting on a mascara.

Thank you, Blondie.

She's a gorgeous blonde, blue-eyed, and always dressed like she's about to judge a fashion contest. Looks like a magazine model, acts like a spoiled cat. If the wind blows too hard, she might complain it's 'ruining her aesthetic.'

She probably thinks dirt is a personal attack. Probably allergic to hard work. Survives entirely on attitude. If she's left unsupervised, she would perish in the wild within an hour.

Angel scoffed, but suddenly turned into a soft girl. "But isn't it nice if she participates? We're like a family here." she smiled sweetly.

"Yeah, we're a section."

"We're representing our group."

"Everyone has to help."

I stare, unimpressed.

For a moment, I consider making the lights flicker—just enough to send everyone into a brief panic, just enough to shift the attention away from me.

Alex, unbothered, claps his hands again. "Okay! What if we all take turns giving ideas, and then vote on the best one?"

Leah, who has been silent this whole time, hesitates. "I… have an idea. We should do a themed café."

But everyone didn't hear her.

Emily, sitting next to her, suddenly raised her hand. "What if we do a themed café? Like, fantasy or something, guys!"

Abigail hums. "That's actually not bad."

Sebastian raises a brow. "Huh."

Haley suddenly paid attention.

And, Angel's fans immediately love it.

"Oh, Angel would look so cute in a fantasy outfit!"

"My heart couldn't take this!"

Alex practically explodes with excitement, throwing his arms out. "See? Now we're thinking outside the box!"

Then, he suddenly yelled. "But the box is still too common! We need something legendary!"

The room groans in unison.

I move. Slow. Unnoticed. I stand, quietly stepping toward the door—

"Avaris."

Again?

I look up. Angel is watching me.

Her fan club follows her gaze.

Now everyone is looking at me.

Fantastic.

"Where are you going?" she asks, all sweetness.

Lie. Quick. Something believable.

"Bathroom."

Angel smiles, but I hear her thoughts loud and clear.

Yeah, right.

She doesn't believe me.

I don't care. I turn to leave—

But Alex lunges in front of the door like a heroic protagonist in the final act of a terrible movie.

"Avaris, wait!" He spreads his arms wide, as if shielding the entire world from impending doom. His energy is blinding. Suffocating. Completely unbearable. "You can't leave! You have to be part of this! It wouldn't be the same without you!"

I stare at him. Deadpan. "It would," I say. "In fact, it would be better."

Abigail snorts. "Boo, let her go!"

Alex doesn't back down. His eyes burn with the intensity of a motivational speaker about to change lives. "Avaris, this is more than just some school event! This is about us! About teamwork! About creating something amazing together!"

I stare at him. "It's a booth."

"No," Alex declares, "it's a legacy!"

Someone claps.

It's Sam.

Then Angel's fan club joins in.

Then the entire class.

Are they being sarcastic?

Alex grins, looking at our classmates one by one, his energy spreading like a wildfire. "Think about it! Years from now, people will look back and remember our class! They'll talk about how we did something no other class had done before! Something so incredible, so legendary, that future students will say, 'Wow, I wish I had been part of that!"

Silence.

Someone coughed.

This is a hard watch, I'll skip.

Alex beams at me, eyes sparkling with motivation. "So?"

I stare at him. Sigh.

Then, after a long pause—Alex started screaming.

"EVERYONE!" he howls, throwing his arms up like he's leading a revolution. "We must unite! We must inspire Avaris! This isn't just a booth—it's our legacy! Our glory! Our names will be carved into history! Future generations will sing songs of our hard work and sacrifice!"

Oh, please.

I hate motivations.

And for the second time—it's a booth! Not a revolution.

I have no choice. "Fine."

The class erupts—not out of joy, but sheer relief that Alex is finally done with his nonsense.

Alex throws a fist in the air like he just won a war. "YES!"

I have made a terrible mistake.