English fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, English
Everyone knew, but little was changed. We went on with our affairs;
with little zest, no doubt--we could never forget the deepening shadow.
But what else was there for us to do but go on? We could not instantly
alter ourselves or our way of life. Religions blazed into a spasmodic
fever as men and women sought refuge from the dreadful reality. Crimes
of lust and greed increased for the same reason. But for the most part
we continued in the old ways by sheer inertia, though there was a new
and smaller moon visible to us in the night sky, a moon that waxed with
infinite slowness towards the full, and grew larger night by night.
We knew by then that the stranger was as big as Jupiter, and with a
density little less than that of the Earth.
The first portents of disaster came when our own moon was approaching
the new. The stranger’s mass had begun to affect the tides, and we were
warned to evacuate all low lands, near the sea, upon the estuaries, and
incidentally the river level in London. Four days before the highest
tide the Thames flooded Farringdon Street, Westminster, and great
districts on the south bank, and the retreating river laid bare the
river-bed as far down as Greenwich.
The population of London had fled to the heights North and South
before the great floods that devastated all the low lands of Essex,
Kent, Surrey, and Middlesex. And with that rush for safety and the
rapidly increasing portents of disaster the routine of civilisation was
definitely broken. It seemed as if in the mass we were being gradually
stripped of all our tediously-acquired virtues and vices, until but one
instinct remained, the instinct for self-preservation. That, however,
was only the effect produced by the panic movement of the crowd; when
one came to individuals....
I can, however, only speak of two, myself and another man. We sat
together on a hill in Derbyshire and watched through the last night.
A certain calmness had come to me, then, mingled with the queerest
feelings of excitement and expectation. Within sight of death, I could
still enjoy this amazing celestial adventure. The new planet that was
rushing in upon us had already torn us from our steady path about the
sun, and our old familiar moon dwindled to the size of a sixpence, and,
diminishing almost visibly, was within a few hours of destruction. For
the moon had fled its old allegiance to the Earth and was rushing to
the arms of this great stranger like some passionate, unfaithful lover.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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