Jacob Carter's alarm chimed at 5:12 a.m., but he was already awake. The cramped one-bedroom apartment felt colder than usual, its peeling wallpaper casting long shadows in the weak dawn light. He sat up on the edge of his twin bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and swung his legs to the floor. His muscles ached from yesterday's temp‑warehouse shift, but today he had an interview—another chance, he told himself, to pull his family back from the brink.
In the kitchenette, he measured instant coffee granules into a chipped mug, poured steaming water from an electric kettle, and stirred. The bitter aroma was both comfort and curse: it woke him fully, but reminded him how frugal life had become. His mother, Maria, would stop at nothing to keep the lights on, but even her quiet strength wavered these days.
"Jacob! Make sure you drop Leo at school," Maria called from the living room. Her voice was gentle but carried the weight of unspoken worries. At thirty‑eight, she worked two jobs—day shift at a care home, evening cleaning gigs—yet still found time to tuck in Jacob and his siblings each night.
Jacob nodded. He grabbed last night's suit jacket—wrinkled in the closet—threw it on, and scooped up his resume folder. He paused at the door to kiss Maria's cheek. She managed a tired smile.
"Be back for breakfast," he promised, though he wasn't sure when "back" would come. His little brother, Leo, was already tugging on mismatched socks by the front door.
"Jacob! Hurry or you'll miss the bus," Leo grumbled, scuffing his sneakers on the linoleum.
Emma, twelve and impossibly mature, balanced homework and breakfast at the small table. She looked up and offered him a half‑hearted grin.
"Good luck," she said, pushing a bowl of cereal toward him before returning to her algebra.
Outside, the Minneapolis morning was crisp. Jacob jogged to the neighborhood bus stop, his breath pluming in the air. He checked his phone—no new messages. At eighteen months waiting, he'd heard nothing from the city about job‑training programs. His dreams of making something more of himself faded every month without success.
At the retail‑chain store, the hiring manager barely glanced at his resume before shaking her head.
"I'm sorry, Jacob, but we're looking for someone with at least two years of customer‑service experience. Thanks for coming in." She offered a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.
He forced a grin. "Thank you for your time."
In the taxi back—his last ten dollars burning through the meter—Jacob rehearsed interview responses. "I'm a quick learner." "I work well under pressure." But none of it mattered. At twenty‑one, bachelor's degree in hand, he still couldn't afford rent, let alone save for his siblings' college funds.
By 8:30 a.m., he was home. Maria was at her first shift; Emma had caught the school bus; Leo was at daycare. The apartment was deathly quiet. He sat at the kitchen table and stacked the mail—three utility disconnection notices, a past‑due credit‑card letter, and a generic flyer for payday loans. His heart sank.
Jacob sprawled the notices out. Electricity: $267 overdue. Water: $103. Internet: he couldn't even bear to open that one. He stuffed them into an envelope, took a deep breath, and resolved to make some calls—though he knew there was little mercy for people like him.
He stepped outside to clear his head, slinging his bag over his shoulder. On First Avenue, traffic was light at this hour; delivery trucks rolled past. As he neared the intersection, the world seemed to hold its breath. Birds fell silent; distant horns faded.
Then—without warning—the sky turned coal black. A ribbon of darkness unfurled from horizon to horizon, swallowing streetlights and sunlight alike. The city went still. Jacob's breath caught in his throat.
Seconds later, as abruptly as it had come, the darkness lifted. Clouds parted, and pale sunbeams fell across the street. Car engines sputtered back to life. A taxi idled, its driver in stunned silence. A few feet away, a jogger came to a halt, staring upward.
Jacob stood frozen, phone halfway to his ear. He pressed record as neighbors spilled into the street—mouths agape, phones raised. Nobody spoke. No sirens, no alerts—just the hush of collective disbelief.
He lowered his phone. Was it a solar eclipse? A terrorist attack? But this had lasted no longer than half a minute, and the calendar read April 12, 2025—no astronomical event was due. His pulse hammered in his ears as random questions spun in his mind.
"Sir—are you okay?" A voice startled him. A man in a suit, briefcase in hand, peered at him. Jacob shook his head.
"I—I don't know what happened," Jacob stammered.
The man shrugged and walked on.
Jacob watched him go, mind buzzing. Everything felt surreal. As he walked home, he replayed the darkness in his head. At his front door, his phone buzzed with a global news alert:
"Sky Anomaly Across Multiple Cities—Experts Baffled."
His fingers trembled as he tapped the notification. Live footage showed similar skies in Beijing, Buenos Aires, Mumbai—each city paused under an impenetrable black veil. Headlines rolled in: "First Contact?" "Government Cover‑Up?" "End of Days?"
Jacob closed his eyes. Life had always felt like a battle just to stay afloat; now the world itself was breaking. And somehow, he sensed this was only the beginning.
He pocketed his phone and stepped inside. The envelope of bills lay on the counter, waiting. But for the first time, he found himself caring less about overdue notices and more about the unfathomable forces at play outside his window.
Because something had changed. And deep down, Jacob knew normal life had slipped through his fingers forever.