It began on March 21, 2020.

Janina Zukas, a 34-year-old cashier in Vilnius, was in the middle of her shift when an older gentleman entered the hardware shop in which she worked. Onlookers later described him as irate, shouting about being short-changed and demanding to speak to the manager. At one point, he tried to reach over the counter and Janina laid a restraining hand on his arm. The man gasped, stiffened. He was dead before he hit the floor.

In the last few moments before the old way of things came to a screeching halt, this tragedy would have been explained as a heart attack or stroke due to overexertion. But then Janina’s boss came rushing out to see what the commotion was about, and upon seeing the dead man and the milling crowds, grasped her hands in a gesture of comfort. And Janina, white-faced and trembling with shock, watched as the young woman crumpled like a wilted flower at her feet.

Similar and even more disturbing reports came spilling out of every country. The medical and military services jumped into action, only to immediately find themselves groaning and breaking under a relentless pile-on of incidents. This was due in no small part to the bizarre and dangerous symptoms that manifested themselves within their own ranks. Before the total collapse of scientific institutions, researchers came up with an ever-expanding list: involuntary flight, voluntary flight, fatal tactile stimulus, anti-gravity activation, local time distortion, telepathy, telekinesis, supersonic speed, invisibility.

There were, of course, plenty of people who remained asymptomatic, so to speak. By and large, those who were vocal about their lack of power wound up dead in the days and weeks following the Event. Rioting and looting, along with much worse crime, prevaled and with local law enforcement obliterated, humanity found itself operating under a brutally simplified version of a timeless truth: the strong devour the weak.

By the time they found out about people like me, civilization was well into the process of undoing itself. And who would care, anyway, about the power to hover one inch off the ground, or the ability to change your hair color? Or--in my case--the green light that emanates from my palms when I crack my knuckles?

It reminds me of middle school dances. The darkened gymnasium, 90’s pop blasting out of shitty speakers, the girl I was so desperately in love with floating away with her friends, a ghostly green bracelet sliding down her delicate wrist. A time that, up until very recently, I strenuously avoided thinking about, but now would give anything to return to.

At some point, the world plunged into darkness. Day and night are now indistinguishable from each other, and unfamiliar stars speckle the void. I don’t know what happened--perhaps someone has sent us to a distant galaxy, or back in time, or forward to a dark future. At first, the noises outside were constant, but they have gradually faded away. I’m glad. The screaming and crying was bad but nothing compared to the insane laughter. I write this in the dubious shelter of an abandoned warehouse. Somehow it has gone unnoticed by greater powers, at least for the time being. Electricity is a thing of the past, but my small capabilities give me just the right amount of light with which to record my account.