When The Sun Died

Chapter 2

Asher’s pov

Morning came too quietly.

I woke before my alarm, staring at the pale ceiling above me. For a second, I didn’t move. The air felt… wrong. Heavy, like the house was holding its breath.

The sunlight leaking through my curtains looked washed out. Weak.

Not like morning sunlight at all.

When I sat up, a strange stiffness clung to my body. Not pain just off, like I’d slept in the wrong position on every surface of my bed.

It’s just nerves, I tried telling myself. It’s only an eclipse. A normal one. I am just panicking for nothing.

I got dressed quickly and walked into the hallway.

Silence swallowed the house whole.

No radio. No clattering dishes. No morning chatter. Too quiet.

When I stepped into the kitchen, I didn’t need anyone to tell me something was off.

Mom was sitting at the table, clutching her coffee like it was the only warm thing left in the world.

Her hand trembled with each breath. Dad leaned against the counter, pale, sweating, rubbing his temples like they were full of static.

They looked sick.

Weak.

Drained.

Fading.

“Morning,” I said quietly.

Mom forced a smile. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Dad tried to straighten but winced. “Just a bad night. That’s all.”

Except it wasn’t.

I instantly felt a strange pressure in the room, like the air was thicker around them. Almost like something was… feeding off them.

“You both look awful,” I murmured.

I stepped closer. “You two look… tired.”

Dad grunted, rubbing his eyes. “Just one of those days.”

But it wasn’t “one of those days.”

Not with both of them looking like they’d run a marathon in their sleep.

Mom pushed her coffee away. “We should go to the hospital. I feel… off.”

Dad nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe… maybe we should.”

That scared me more than anything. Dad never agreed to hospitals. He avoided them like the plague.

I grabbed the keys immediately. “Let’s go.”

As we drove, the town didn’t look right. People sat on their porches staring at the sky like they were waiting for something.

A few elderly men leaned on their canes on the sidewalk, looking dazed.

But I didn’t think much of it.

Not yet.

The hospital parking lot was fuller than usual, but not emergency full . No sirens. No panic.

Just… confusion.

Inside, nurses were moving quickly, checking vitals, whispering to one another.

A woman in a wheelchair groaned softly. Another man sat slumped with oxygen tubes in his nose, looking worse than usual.

“Strange morning,” one nurse muttered under her breath as she checked Mom’s pulse. “Everyone woke up feeling faint.”

Dad coughed. “Everyone?”

“Feels like it,” she said distractedly. “It’s probably the weather.”

She didn’t sound convinced.

They led my parents to an observation room. I stood by the door, fingers tapping restlessly on my thigh.

Mom reached for my hand. “You don’t have to stay. Go home, rest. We’ll call you if anything changes.”

Dad nodded weakly. “Go on, kid.”

I didn’t want to leave them.

But hovering over them wouldn’t help.

So I left.

The fog outside had thickened while we were inside. A slow moving sheet of white that clung to the ground like smoke. I tried not to stare into it, but every now and then I thought I saw shapes shifting inside it.

On the drive home, I passed houses where people stood outside, leaning on railings, rubbing their temples. One old man sat on the curb with his head between his knees.

Still… I didn’t connect anything.

I didn’t realize the pattern.

All I knew was that the town felt wrong.

When I got home, the silence was suffocating. I closed the door, leaned against it, and exhaled shakily.

The eclipse was a few hours away.

And for some reason, the world already felt dimmer like the sun was dying early.

By the time I stepped back into the house, the quiet felt… thicker. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

I shut the door and called out, “Anyone home?”

Of course no one answered my parents were still at the hospital.

Still, the empty echo of my voice made the hairs on my arms rise.

I tossed my keys onto the table. They hit the wood with a loud ting that felt too sharp in the silence.

I paced.

I cleaned the counter three times.

I checked my phone.

I checked the window.

Then I checked the sky.

The sun was still up there too white, too harsh, bleeding through the haze like a dying lightbulb.

My phone buzzed suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

Mom: We’re still being checked. Everything’s fine, guess you’ll have to watch the Eclipse without us darling.

I texted back quickly

Me: text me if you need anything mum and I’ll be on my way there.

Three dots appeared… then disappeared… then reappeared…

Then finally:

Mom: Stay home. Rest.

That last part twisted something in my chest.

I sat on the couch, exhaling slowly. Trying not to think. Trying not to let the silence suffocate me.

I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, hoping the noise would fill the house, even just a little.

The screen flickered to life, and the morning news greeted me with bright colors and cheerful music.

“…and don’t forget, folks, just three hours until the total solar eclipse! Experts say it’s a rare event that only lasts five minutes, so make sure you’ve got your protective glasses ready. It’s going to be spectacular!”

The anchor smiled, holding up a pair of cardboard eclipse glasses like a prize. Behind her, a live shot of the town square showed people milling about, laughing, taking selfies, holding their phones up to the sky.

I pressed mute.

Why did it make my stomach twist? Why did everyone look… normal? Happy? Excited? Or am I just the only one that felt off?

I stared at the screen. Five minutes. That was all it would take. Just five minutes, and the sky would darken. And then what happens next? I switched channels.

Another broadcast, same tone, same excitement.

“A once in a lifetime event!” “Don’t miss it!”

I turned the TV off.

Silence returned. Louder this time. Thicker. Crushing.

I sank back onto the couch. Five minutes. Five Minutes of Darkness. And I still didn’t know what I was supposed to do about it.