The world was ending, not with a bang, but with a whisper of poison drifting across continents, silencing cities before dawn. In an old country manor tucked deep in the English countryside, Simon and Nell hosted what looked like a perfect Christmas dinner. Lights shimmered, wine flowed, and laughter echoed. But beneath every smile lurked a shared dread—the gas cloud was real, and their fate was sealed. Each guest clutched a government-issued “exit pill” in their pocket, disguised in polite conversation and festive decor. Children played by the fire, unaware of the weight of the night. They believed in magic still. But the magic was gone, replaced by something colder: acceptance.
As the night stretched on, friendships unraveled under the strain of impending doom. James argued with Sophie over their unborn child—should they spare it from suffering or hope against hope? Sandra’s eyes betrayed her terror, despite her smile. Bella drank herself into numbness, while Alex paced in quiet despair. Art, Simon’s young son, began asking questions no parent could answer. Why did the birds fall from the sky? Why did the clouds taste like metal? Why couldn’t anyone stop it? In his innocence, he became a mirror—reflecting the cowardice of the adults around him. When he ran into the night, they chased not only a boy but a lost sense of control.
The dinner turned into a ceremony of endings. One by one, they took the pill, whispering goodbyes as if death could be dignified. The children were lulled to sleep with stories, fizzy drinks hiding their final dose. Some wept. Others laughed too hard. Outside, the wind carried the unseen killer closer, hissing through trees like a ghost. In the quiet that followed, time seemed to pause. No screams, no violence—just the slow retreat of life as each room fell silent. The manor, once filled with light and life, became a mausoleum of memories.
But morning came. And with it, breath. Not all was as it seemed. Art opened his eyes, gasping for air in a world that should have ended. He stumbled outside, barefoot on frozen grass, the sky eerily calm. No storm, no gas, only silence. Had the cloud changed course? Was the science wrong? Or had hope survived, buried beneath fear and surrender? Alone among the fallen, Art wandered into the sunrise—a boy reborn in a world emptied by panic. Silent Night was never just about the end. It was about how we choose to face it—whether with truth, illusion, or resistance. In the aftermath, Art’s survival was not a miracle, but a question: if given another chance, would humanity choose differently?
