Shadow of Heaven

This is how I did it... This is how I committed the most heinous crime imaginable.

It was Friday morning, another day steeped in drudgery. Fatigue clung to me like a second skin, and self-loathing gnawed at my insides. Mornings were my nemesis, an unwelcome intruder in the sanctum of my discontent. The gray Tokyo sky hung heavy outside, oppressive and suffocating, stirring nausea in my gut. I poured myself a bowl of cereal, the mundane ritual grounding me. From the corner of my eye, I saw my wife stirring. Her hair was a tangled halo around her head, yet she was as breathtaking as she was on our wedding day.

Aiko. My heart ached with love for her. Every fiber of my being yearned to forgo the day's obligations, to stay and hold her, to kiss her lips, and lose myself in her presence. Her blonde hair and those blue eyes, glimmering even in the dull light filtering through the dismal sky, captivated me. She moved with grace to the adjacent room to wake Damien, our five-year-old son.

Damien, my spitting image. The thought made me smile despite myself. He stirred with the same reluctance, the same urge to revolt against the dawn. His eyes were her gift, sparkling blue gems set in a face that was my own. Brown hair, almond-shaped eyes—my carbon copy.

"Excited?" Aiko asked him in Japanese, her voice a soft melody.

"Yes," Damien replied, the lie transparent.

It was his first day at school, a milestone cloaked in anxiety. He was as skittish as a deer in headlights.

"It'll be fine," I assured him, my Japanese fractured but earnest. The language twisted my tongue into knots, unlike Aiko, whose English flowed as effortlessly as water.

"Your father's right," she said, her voice soothing, "It's going to be fun. You'll play some games, make new friends."

"I already have friends," he muttered.

"Godfrey is a dog, honey," she reminded him.

I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well, Jesus said, 'dogs are man's best friend.'"

She rolled her eyes, scooped him up, and plopped him in a chair next to me, pouring him cereal. As dawn slowly turned to day, the sun glaringly marked 8 a.m. I suited up in black while he was dressed in the drab uniform of school.

A quick kiss to her and I was out the door, driving our son to school. I waved him off, and the moment the school doors swallowed him, I sprinted to the office, knowing damn well I was late and would catch hell from my boss, that miserable prick.

I fantasized about shoving my pen through his eye socket, about stringing him up by his own guts. But reality snapped back when I walked into the office, the bastard already waiting. The entire office paused to listen as he eviscerated me with words that barely registered; I didn't give a damn what the fat bastard had to say.

All I heard was, "Get back to work, Mr. John." I nodded subserviently and sank into my chair, buried under a mountain of files I knew the fat fuck had piled on.

Hours passed, and I wanted to grab a pen and shove it through his penis hole. But then I remembered my wife and child, and that I was here to work my ass off so they could relax. For that is the job of a man, to provide. I swallowed my pride and sank myself into hours of boredom.

Paper after paper, my hand grew tired, my fingers numb, only the rain that fell outside the window behind me offered solace. The sound of drip... drip on the glass was as soothing as the voice of my Aiko.

When the clock finally struck 1 p.m., I was as happy as our dog when I give him treats. Lunch time. I grabbed my umbrella and headed outside. The restaurant was only fifteen minutes away. The street bustled with cars and people, the music of the rain tapping on my transparent umbrella. The sky was gray, the ground wet and black.

I didn't mind the walk; I cherished these solitary moments.

I took a right turn and found myself swallowed by the chaotic heart of Shibuya. The streets were choked with people, a writhing sea of bodies that moved like a swarm of ants—each one lost in their own private hell or fleeting moments of joy. The sheer volume of human misery and ecstasy made me feel like a speck of dust caught in a storm.

And then, as if the sky itself was being torn apart, the gray overcast above ripped open. A blinding beam of light sliced through the darkness, and from that searing opening descended a colossal figure. It was a shape so white and glowing it seemed to be made of the very essence of light, but it had no face—just an all-consuming, featureless presence that hovered above the street.

The impact was immediate and catastrophic. The air erupted with a chorus of screams, car engines choked to silence, horns blared in a mindless frenzy, and shopkeepers scattered like frightened rats, leaving their stoves blazing unattended. But then, in the blink of an eye, the noise stopped. The silence that followed was so deep it felt like a living thing, wrapping around me until I couldn't even hear my own breath. My heart hammered in my chest, so loud it felt like it might explode.

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The figure's voice shattered the oppressive silence, a deep, earth-shaking rumble that felt like it was emerging from the very bowels of the planet. "You're all probably wondering what's going on," it roared, its voice a chilling, unsettling echo. "I've been sent by God with a message you need to hear. There are only one hundred thousand spots left in Heaven. Once they're gone, there won't be any more chances. Live your lives or take them yourself, but when it's over, there shall be no other choice. In these final hours, cherish those you love, for you may never see them again."

As the figure vanished, a number materialized in the sky, glowing white and stark—one hundred thousand.

The silence that followed was heavy and unnerving. A woman nearby collapsed, causing me to stumble as I sought my balance. Another man, overwhelmed, vomited on the pavement. A few people screamed, others wept, but most stood in a stunned, eerie quiet.

I was one of the silent ones, my hands trembling so violently that I could barely hold onto the rain shelter above me. I drew a shaky breath and bolted back to my car. To hell with work, to hell with lunch—I thought only of my son, my wife.

I reached the car far quicker than I anticipated. I flung the door open and drove off, shouting and cursing at the dazed drivers still staring at the glowing numbers in the sky. I roared in frustration, slamming into the cars in my way as I sped toward my son's school. When I arrived, my right front light was shattered from the impact. I leaped out and pounded on the school's entrance, the door shaking with each furious bang.

An elderly lady, who seemed to recognize me, opened the door. Before she could even utter a greeting, I erupted, "My son! I want my son!"

She blinked, taken aback. "What for?"

"I want my fucking son! Bring him to me!" My voice was harsh, but the old lady's kind demeanor only added to my guilt. I barged past her into the school, which felt like an endless maze. My voice echoed through the hallways as I shouted, "Damien! Damien!" I repeated his name over and over until, finally, they brought him to me. His face was a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

Without a word, I grabbed him and rushed back to my car. He asked questions, but I didn't answer as I hastily buckled him into the seat. I drove with reckless speed, narrowly swerving to avoid a cat. My heart pounded as I barely regained control of the vehicle.

"Dad, you're scaring me," Damien said, his voice trembling.

Those words struck me like daggers. "I know, I know. But we're almost there," I replied, my voice strained.

We reached the house in record time. I threw the car into park in the middle of the street and sprinted up to the front door. When I flung it open, the sight that met me was a shattering blow to my sanity: Aiko was on top of another man, moving rhythmically in the living room.

Rage consumed me. I dropped to one knee, my voice low and controlled as I said to Damien, "Go to your room." He obeyed, albeit confused.

At that moment, the man in the sky and the ominous numbers seemed to fade into the background. All I could see was the back of that man's head, a vision of violence and retribution.

Aiko scrambled to cover herself, her voice trembling as she stammered, "John, I can explain."

I ignored her and addressed the stranger. "Who are you?" I demanded in Japanese. He didn't look Japanese—he was clearly a foreigner.

The man fumbled with his words, his Japanese halting and broken. "Listen, man, I didn't know. She said she was single." His accent betrayed him—he was American.

Switching to English, I pressed, "Who are you?"

"Dan," he answered, his voice filled with fear.

"How long?" I asked, my tone cold and unyielding.

Aiko tried to interject, "This is—"

"Not speaking to you," I cut her off, my gaze fixed on Dan. She was dead to me.

"Couple of months," Dan admitted, his voice a mixture of guilt.

"Honey, trust me—" Aiko began, but I silenced her with a glare.

"Not one more fucking word." I finally looked at Aiko. The woman I once thought was the most beautiful now seemed nothing more than a betrayal incarnate. All I saw was the unfaithful scum of a whore.

All the blood, sweat, and tears I'd poured into work, the insults from my boss—what had it all been for? Nothing more than a knife to the heart.

I took a deep breath, repeating the words like a grim incantation: I know what I must do. I know what I must do. I wandered to our bedroom, leaned down, and grabbed it. When I returned to the living room, Aiko was in the kitchen, and the intruder remained slumped on the couch. I looked at him, scrutinizing his face. Why? Why had she chosen him? I was better looking, more physically appealing.

"Listen, man, this is all a huge misunderstanding. We were both played. Can I just leave now? I want to go home," he pleaded.

"You can leave," I said, my voice as cold as a winter's night, "but you're not going home." I raised the revolver, my hand steady, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and his brain splattered against the window behind him. My mind was a vacant void, numb and detached. Aiko's scream was a jagged knife in the silence.

"What did you do?!" she howled, her voice a mix of horror and disbelief. I remained silent, unfazed by the carnage before me.

I glanced out the window. The street below was deserted, but the number on the sky had dwindled, from one hundred thousand to a mere hundred. I knew the desperation would soon lead to more lives claimed in vain hopes of finding a spot in the heavens, but I didn't care.

I turned on the TV. The newswoman's voice was grim and dispassionate. "Today, we have witnessed the undeniable presence of God." She continued, "In the afternoon, a blinding white figure appeared, announcing that only one hundred thousand spots remain in Heaven."

Aiko, wiping her tears, began to listen intently.

"The death toll in Japan has soared. Many have killed their loved ones, and countless others have taken their own lives by various means." I switched off the TV and loaded three bullets into the revolver. I headed towards my son's room.

He was cowering under the bed, but when he saw me, he emerged, tears streaming down his face. He ran to me, clutching me tightly. I embraced him, my heart breaking, but I knew what had to be done. I whispered to him. "Look at the wall, son." My voice was calm, though it trembled with suppressed grief. Tears burned their way to my throat, but I swallowed them down

The longer I hesitated, the fewer spots remained. I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. My son crumpled to the floor, his blood painting the empty wall where we had planned to mount a TV.

I walked back to the living room. At first, I had hesitated to shoot Aiko, believing that she deserved a fate far worse than mine. But she had already beaten me to it, a knife clutched in her hand, her neck a grotesque mess of red and flesh. I looked outside one final time. The number had dropped to zero. There were no spots left.

I sat opposite her, the weight of despair settling over me. I placed the barrel of the revolver in my mouth and pulled the trigger. Darkness enveloped me, an abyss devoid of pain. There was no heaven, no eternal paradise, and no God, just the endless abyss that crawled at my skin.

As the void consumed me, a single thought looped endlessly in my mind, echoing through the blackness:

Who was I praying to all this time?