When the sun Died

Chapter 3

Asher’s POV

The eclipse wasn’t supposed to start until noon, but something felt wrong the moment I opened my eyes.

The air was heavy like the atmosphere itself was waiting for something. I couldn’t explain it. I just sat up and stared at the dim light filtering through my curtains, I didn’t feel excitement. I felt a slow, cold ache creeping up my spine.

I forced myself to get up anyway.

By noon, half the town was already outside, kids screaming, parents laughing, people taking pictures like it was a carnival instead of a cosmic event.

I slipped out to the front porch, rubbing my palms together, trying to calm the sudden unease twisting in my chest.

Grandma Tia,opposite our house waved at me.

She didn’t look sick

“Asher! You came out to see it?”

“Yeah,” I said, even though my voice felt weak. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

She gave a short laugh.

“These scientists made it sound like the world was ending. Five minutes of darkness?” She scoffed. “As if we haven’t survived worse.”

I tried to smile, but that uneasy feeling tightened.

Then the first shadow fell.

A hush rolled through the street not excitement, not fear, just… sudden silence.

Everything dimmed too fast, like someone dragged a massive curtain across the sky.

Within seconds, the sun vanished completely.

Darkness swallowed everything.

Not eclipse darkness.

Not cloudy darkness.

This was complete blackout, a darkness you could taste, thick and suffocating.

A woman gasped somewhere down the road.

“Is… is it supposed to be this dark?”

Someone else snapped, “My phone won’t focus why is it pitch black?”

I swallowed hard. My heart thudded in my ears.

Five minutes, Asher.

Just breathe.

This is normal

Right?

But the darkness didn’t feel normal. It felt alive.

I couldn’t see my own hand when I lifted it. Couldn’t see the street. Couldn’t see the houses. Voices echoed in a strange way, like sound couldn’t find its shape.

And then slowly the blackness shifted.

A glow seeped into the sky.

Faint at first…

Then stronger…

A sick, reddish hue spread above us like spilled wine bleeding across paper.

People cheered.

Cheered.

“Oh my God, look at the color!”

“This is beautiful!”

“I’ve never seen anything like this!”

Beautiful?

The sky looked like it was bleeding.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it. My chest tightened with a strange, twisting dread.

Grandma Tia whispered, “This… doesn’t look normal.”

No kidding.

Within five minutes, news alerts exploded across everyone’s phones, reporters talking too fast, anchors pretending they weren’t nervous.

“the eclipse appears to be lasting longer than predicted”

“scientists are reviewing unexpected shifts in coloration—”

“if you’re outdoors, remain calm”

A boy near me laughed and spun around with his arms wide.

“This is epic!”

I couldn’t even force a smile.

Something was off. Deeply off. I could feel it humming under my skin like static.

Then my phone vibrated.

Hospital.

I didn’t even read the message fully. I bolted into the house to pick my keys.

People were still outside celebrating, talking, recording the sky, walking around like it was a festival. But the deeper I went into town, the more I noticed the shift.

Not everyone was standing.

Not everyone was cheering.

Some were sitting.

Some were leaning on walls.

Some were breathing too fast.

A woman clutching her chest.

A man gripping a railing like he might fall.

A kid crying and sweating.

I didn’t stop. I drove straight to the hospital. Inside was chaos.

Not screaming, not blood but fear. Quiet, tense fear. Doctors rushing in and out with carts.

Nurses whispering urgently. People coughing, wheezing, shivering.

I pushed through the crowd, breath shallow.

“Excuse me. sorry please, where are my parents?”

A nurse recognized me.

“Asher, they’re in Ward Three.”

Her eyes darted to the red tinted windows.

“We’re… trying to stabilize them. Their vitals dropped again.”

My stomach dropped.

Again?

I hurried down the corridor.

The lights flickered not enough to go out, but enough to make my pulse spike.

I stepped into Ward Three.

Mom was lying back, breathing fast. Dad who rarely even caught a cold looked pale, sweating, his chest rising and falling too hard.

“Mom?” I ran to her side. “Dad? What’s going on?”

Mom grabbed my hand weakly.

“The eclipse… your father… he started coughing again…”

Dad tried to sit up but winced.

“Don’t panic, Asher. It’s just a flare-up… we’ll be fine.”

He didn’t sound fine. He sounded like his lungs were tightening.

A doctor walked in, expression tight but calm.

“Asher, right? Your parents are stable for now. This sudden wave of symptoms is… unusual, but we’re handling it.”

“What’s causing it?” I demanded.

She hesitated.

That tiny hesitation told me enough.

“We don’t know yet,” she finally said. “But stay nearby. We might need to run additional tests.”

The hospital lights flickered again.

This time twice.

Dad closed his eyes.

Mom gripped my hand harder.

And that sick red glow outside the window kept deepening, staining the walls a faint crimson.

I looked out at the sky and felt it again.

Something was wrong.

Something big.

Something no one was ready for.

I didn’t know what was coming

but this?

This wasn’t just an eclipse.

It was the beginning.

And for the first time in my life, I wished I was wrong.

I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath until the doctor stepped out.

The second she left, the room felt too small. Too warm. Too quiet. The only sounds were the beeping machines and Mom’s uneven breaths.

I rubbed my palms against my jeans, trying to steady myself.

“Mom… does anything hurt?” I whispered.

She shook her head, but even that small movement made her wince. “Just… weak. Like someone unplugged me overnight.”

Dad gave a humorless huff. “If this is how an eclipse is supposed to make us feel, I’m writing a complaint.”

I tried to laugh. I really did. But it caught in my throat.

The lights flickered again.

I froze.

“Did you feel that?” I whispered.

Dad frowned. “The light?”

“No. The air.”

It felt like the oxygen had thinned by a fraction barely noticeable, but wrong enough for my instincts to react.

Dad opened his mouth to respond, but a loud crash echoed down the hallway, followed by a nurse shouting,

“Room Six! Get a crash cart!”

I stepped toward the door immediately.

“Asher, don’t,” Mom breathed.

“I’m just checking,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to reassure her or myself.

I poked my head into the hallway.

It was chaos in slow motion nurses moving fast but too quietly, doctors murmuring orders under their breaths, the red glow pouring through every window like a warning sign.

A man on a stretcher gasped for air while two nurses tried to steady him.

“I…I can’t breathe,” he wheezed.

“It’s okay, sir, stay with us,” one said, voice trembling anyway.

People weren’t screaming. People weren’t running.

They were… failing.

Like the entire hospital was filled with dying batteries.

Another light flickered overhead, buzzing faintly.

I swallowed hard and went back inside.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Bad?”

“Worse,” I admitted.

No point lying when everything outside the window looked like a scene from a disaster movie.

Mom shut her eyes. “Asher… go home. Please.”

“What? No.”

“You need to rest,” she whispered.

“And… being here won’t help us. They’re doing all they can.”

Dad nodded weakly. “Your mother’s right. Go home. If anything changes, we’ll call.”

“But”

“Asher.”

Dad’s voice cracked just slightly, but the firm tone was still there. “We’ll be okay.”

A lie.

A kind lie.

But a lie.

Mom squeezed my hand once more. “Go on, sweetheart.”

My throat clenched. I didn’t want to leave them. Every instinct screamed to stay, to hover, to watch, to do something anything.

But staying still felt like drowning.

I finally nodded, standing up slowly. “I’ll come back later.”

“We know,” Mom whispered.