A Convenient Lie

Earthquake.
Johnny began sliding towards the end of the bus, and he desperately grabbed hold of a nearby seat to prevent himself from slamming into the wall. Fortunately, the bus was slowing down, though the noise did not cease. When the bus finally stopped, Johnny let go, not out of relief, but out of exhaustion. He collapsed to the ceiling of the bus, which was now flat against the ground, and tentatively touched his forehead with his left hand. He was bleeding profusely from a gash in his head, and he gagged at the sight of so much blood. Glancing up, he saw that he was relatively lucky in comparison to the other passengers. The bearded man who had saved his life lay motionless several yards away, his neck bent at a sickening angle.
“Hello?” croaked Johnny, finding that his voice was hoarse, most likely from the screaming he could not even hear. “Are you all right?”
He reached out and tapped the man on the shoulder. Looking closer, he saw even more blood spreading out in a pool around the man’s head. Johnny gagged once more, this time actually vomiting. Then, he pulled himself to his feet weakly, wiping his mouth on his bloody sleeve. Something clattered on the floor, and he saw that it was the quarter. Mindlessly, he picked it up. As he bent down, the strength in his knees disappeared, and he was forced to crawl towards the doorway of the bus. Realizing that the doors were electric and would not open, he attempted to break the glass with his fist. All that resulted from this was a sharp pain in his knuckles. Feebly, he turned to try and find something to break the window with, and as he pivoted, something hit him in the back of the head. It was the driver’s arm, hanging down from the driver’s seat. It was still attached to the driver, but barely so. Johnny let loose a sob.
Suddenly, the bus lurched once more, and it did not stop. The shaking that had been incessant for the last minute now intensified, and Johnny found that he could not physically stand. Something burst in his head, and then there was no more sound. Somewhere in his mind he understood that his eardrums had just been destroyed, that he would never hear again. But even deeper in his mind, he understood that that might not matter, because he knew that the world was literally crashing down around his shoulders. A particularly violent shake sent him sliding towards the window of the door, and this time he had enough momentum to break through. He felt the shards of glass break as he made contact with them, many of them sticking in his skin. Pain rippled through his body, and then a dull, thudding ache in his right leg as he hit the ground below. He screamed again, but he heard nothing, felt only a ripping sensation in his chest as his vocal cords were stretched thinner.
Tears were streaming down his face now, tears of sadness, of pain, of confusion. He had no idea why this was happening, but he knew that the world was going to end. Breathing hard, he looked up, and past the upended cars, past the wreckage of fallen buildings, past the still shaking earth, the sky was alive with colors. Fire arched towards the horizon, lighting up the sky in a glorious artificial sunset. The pollution of the recent years had completely blocked out the sky, making it almost impossible to see the sun, but now, underneath the factory smog, there was a new sun. Black smoke curled around the fire, contrasting with the red a sort of purplish tinge.
Through a haze of tears, he saw a man standing silhouetted against the artificial sunset. The man was alive, that much Johnny knew. And he seemed relatively unharmed, standing with his hands against his sides, watching the sunset as Johnny was.
“Hey. Hey!” Johnny yelled, unable to hear his own voice.
The man turned, and still Johnny could not see his face, but he had the sensation that the man was saying something. Johnny beckoned feebly with his hand for the man to come over, as Johnny was unable to get up, or even move. The man began walking forward, and he had a strange, lopsided gait, favoring his right leg as he moved. The earth shook violently once more, and the man was thrown to the ground. As he hit the ground, the street rumbled more than before, and Johnny lay flat, his heart beating in terror. A shadow fell over both him and the other man, and the two of them looked up simultaneously. The office building to their right was collapsing. A chunk of the wall flew off and landed near Johnny’s head, shattering as it landed. The building leaned towards them treacherously, hovering there, as if daring Johnny to move. Finally, something broke in the foundation of the building, and it fell. Johnny saw it getting closer to him, saw through the windows of the building where the office desks were upturned, where a woman clung for her life to a lamp on the ceiling. Then, there was a brief second of pain, too brief to even register, and then darkness.

Johnny sat up with a start, sweat pouring down his neck and back. He opened his eyes and saw the faint outlines of his room. A flash, seemingly emanating from his body, illuminated his bedroom, and then it disappeared. He let out a sigh, taking comfort in the familiarity of his surroundings. His life was still intact. It was not December 21, 2012, it was months before; September 5. Besides, it was just a dream.
And yet it had seemed so real, so vivid. It had been so intricate and complex that he wondered whether it was truly just a dream. The minute details, the scratch marks he remembered on the bench, the graceful curve of the flames, the panic in the voice of the lunatic.
A dream. Imagination. As Freud would say, the nightmare was cleansing some inner fear I must have had.
He felt something brush against his palm as he made a fist with his right hand, and he rubbed his fingers against the object in apprehension to see what it was, even though he already knew. Breathing hard, he scrambled over the bed towards his desk, switching on the light. A quarter lay in his hand. Forcing himself to look, he gazed at it closely. It was from 2001. Tarnished and old looking, it rested in his palm, a testament to everything that was evil. Johnny threw it angrily against the wall, wanting to distance himself from the object. It spun as it hit the ground, and the face on the upturned side seemed to stare at him with knowing eyes.