Everyone remembers where they were when the lights went out on planet Earth. Me, Gary, Steven, Sam… We were standing right next to the switch.(© The World's End)
Truth is, Kenzo's not half bad. I mean, I don't really know how things used to be—I was born the day of the Blackout. The grown-ups won't talk; hurts too much, you can see it in their eyes. Still, it's pretty decent here. We can grow food—word is that's a rare luxury. Most people are almost healthy. We work like the damned, but Mom says everyone works like that now. Sure, we get Storms—the Storms, you know—but we're used to them. You can spot a Storm maybe half an hour out—fifteen minutes, even—and that's just enough to hide. We've got a shielded bunker for it: basement lined with insulator cloth, and on top a… whatever you call it, a lightning rod. If the sky darkens and starts flickering, we dive in. Taffy tingles a bit when I take her inside, but nothing to be done.
If I'm honest, it all started with her. Dad gave me the bracelet before he left. Sure, it was already dead, but if you believe Dad, before the end of the world a trinket like that cost a fortune and could do just about anything.
I tried not to wave Taffy in Mom's face: it'd be one big reminder—of the past, back when elekStricity still worked, and of Dad himself. So I took the bracelet off whenever I did chores or garden work. That's why things went south: a Storm rolled in, everyone ducked into the bunker, and I sprinted back for Taffy at the last second.
They say lightning hits artefactuses more often, and I wasn't about to let Dad's present fry. We all saw what was left of old Alka after a bolt hit him. Nothing left at all—no ash pile, no bones.
So I dashed back for the bracelet. I'd even kicked off my shoes already, but I remembered Dad: "Lee, guard that thing with your life—keep it as a memory of me!" So I ran home barefoot, grabbed Taffy, slipped her on—and that's when it struck.