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MidReal Story
The Asteroid Impact
Scenario:Today Mom Melanie and teen son Joey were in the car when news anchor came on my fellow american's it is with deep regret that i must inform you that an Asteroid is on a direct path to earth and Emergency management is recommending at this time to prepare food water non parishable food and medical supplies and flash lights batteries and camping gear clothes and emergency radio to keep abreast of the latest developments.
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Joey Williams
He is a high school football player in his junior year, living in a small town with his mother, Melanie. He is responsible, concerned, and determined. Joey listens to the radio while driving with his mom, hearing news of a potential asteroid impact. Panicked, he urges his mom to prepare for the worst while trying to reach his grandparents' safe house on the other side of town.
Fellow American
He is a news anchor reporting on a potential asteroid impact. He is authoritative, serious, and informative. When he breaks the news to Melanie and Joey, he provides details on the asteroid and guidance on preparing for emergency situations. His report instigates panic in Joey but also serves as a source of critical information for Melanie and her son during their time of crisis.
Melanie Williams
She is Joey's mother and a single parent working as a secretary at the local high school. She is caring, cautious, and composed under pressure. Melanie quickly grasps the gravity of the situation when alerted by Joey but remains calm to ensure their safety. She attempts to contact her husband's family but realizes the distance to her inlaws' house and her son's desire to reach his grandparents' safe house.
Today Mom and I were in the car, headed to my football game when the news anchor came on.
"My fellow Americans, it is with deep regret that I must inform you that an Asteroid is on a direct path to hit earth."
My heart skipped a beat as I looked over at my mom, who was driving.
She glanced over at me, but kept her eyes on the road.
"It is estimated that in two days, this Asteroid will hit us."
I felt like I was going to pass out.
My mom reached over and took my hand, giving it a squeeze before turning back to the radio.
"We are recommending that you prepare with food, water, non-perishable food, medical supplies, flashlights, batteries, and camping gear. Also any emergency radio you may have will come in handy to keep up with the latest developments."
My heart was racing as I thought about this.
A possible end of the world?
I didn’t want to die.
I was only in my junior year of high school.
I wanted to graduate and go play football in college.
I wanted to get married and have kids one day.
I didn’t want to die before any of that happened.
"Joey, we will be okay," my mom said softly.
"We just need to prepare for the worst."
"How are we going to do that?"
I asked her.
Mom signaled and pulled into the parking lot of an empty church.
She drove in a wide arc and then pulled back out onto the main road, going the opposite direction.
I held on to the door handle as she picked up speed.
The afternoon sun was glinting through the windshield, making it hard to see.
Other cars were passing us, their drivers looking panicked.
My mom kept a steady speed, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"We need to get home and get some stuff," she said softly.
"The camping gear from the garage, your dad’s old emergency radio, the first aid kit that is under the bathroom sink."
"But Mom, what if we don't have enough time?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"We'll make time, Joey," she replied firmly, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
"And if we can't, we'll find a way to survive together, no matter what."
Mom steered us down Oak Street, a narrow back road lined with old maple trees that most people forgot about.
It was a shortcut that would save us fifteen minutes, but the fallen branches from last week's storm made Mom swerve between obstacles.
Through the gaps in the trees, I could see our neighbors loading their cars in a frenzy - the Hendersons stuffing suitcases into their minivan, old Mr. Peterson throwing camping gear into his truck bed.
My stomach churned as two kids on bikes raced past us, nearly clipping our side mirror.
Mom gripped the wheel tighter, muttering about needing to get home before the roads got any worse.
I grip the armrest as Mom takes the final turn onto Maple Drive, our white two-story coming into view between the oak trees.
Scattered leaves blow across lawns where abandoned toys and bikes lie forgotten.
Next door, the Thompsons load boxes into their SUV while their daughter Sarah stands crying on the porch.
Mom accelerates past three parked cars blocking half the street, their drivers arguing over a gas can.
The dashboard clock reads 4:47 PM - less than an hour since the announcement.
As we pull into our cracked driveway, Mom kills the engine and grabs her keys, already listing supplies we'll need.
Mom unlocks our front door and I follow her inside, my heart still pounding.
She hands me two empty hiking backpacks from the hall closet.
"Fill these with food and water," she says, heading down to the basement to check our emergency supplies.
I sprint into the kitchen, yanking open cabinet doors.
Canned soup, beans, vegetables - I grab them all, my hands shaking as I stuff them into the first backpack.
The radio in the living room keeps broadcasting updates about the asteroid's trajectory.
I check expiration dates on protein bars and crackers before adding them too.
Mom returns from the basement, her arms full of flashlights and batteries.
"Joey, I found Dad's old camping stove," she says, setting it on the counter.
"Do you think we'll really have to leave everything behind?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
She doesn't answer, just nods as she stacks the last of our supplies by the front door.
I check the backpacks one more time, making sure they're evenly weighted.
The battery-powered radio sits on the kitchen counter, its red light blinking as it continues to broadcast updates.
Mom reads off items from her notepad - water jugs, first aid kit, warm clothes, matches.
Just then, the news anchor's voice cuts through sharper than before.
I freeze with my hands on the backpack straps.
"Breaking news," he says.
"NASA reports the asteroid has accelerated its descent. Impact is now expected in less than 24 hours."
Mom drops her notepad, and our eyes meet across the room.
The camping lantern between us casts harsh shadows on her face.
"Mom, what do we do now?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"We stick to the plan, Joey," she replies firmly, though her eyes betray a flicker of fear.
"But what if we can't get far enough in time?"
I follow Mom down the basement stairs, both of us carrying our packed supplies.
The concrete walls feel safer than the vulnerable house above.
Mom sets up Dad's old camping lantern while I arrange our backpacks and water jugs near the corner cot.
Through the small window, I see chaos on our street - car horns blaring, people shouting, sirens wailing in the distance.
"Maybe we should keep driving," I suggest, my voice barely a whisper.
"We could try to make it to Grandma's house."
Mom shakes her head, pointing to the reinforced storm shelter in the corner.
"We're safer here. Your dad installed this after that tornado five years ago."
She starts moving the heavy steel door, grunting with effort.
I rush to help her, and together we pull it open.
"Joey, listen," Mom says, her voice steady despite the chaos outside.
"This shelter can withstand almost anything; it's our best chance."
"But what if Dad was wrong?" I ask, fear creeping into my voice.
I help Mom drag the last of our supplies down the concrete steps into Dad's storm shelter.
The musty underground space feels cramped with our backpacks, water jugs, and camping gear piled against the walls.
Through the shelter's ventilation pipe, we hear more screaming and crashes from the street.
Mom's hands shake as she tests the radio, trying to find emergency broadcasts through the static.
When our neighbor pounds on our front door upstairs, shouting for help, Mom grabs my arm before I can run up.
"We can't save everyone," she whispers, reaching for the steel door.
I sit on the cot, sorting through our medical supplies while Mom fiddles with the radio dials.
The concrete walls amplify every scrape and shuffle of our movements.
When she finally turns to face me, her eyes are red and swollen from crying.
She pulls something from her jacket pocket and sets it on the metal shelf between us - a small orange prescription bottle.
"These are my sleeping pills," she says quietly.
"I have enough for both of us."
My throat tightens as I stare at the bottle.
"If this shelter doesn't work, Joey, I don't want you to suffer."
I knock the bottle off the shelf, pills scattering across the floor.
I sit on the cold shelter floor, staring at the sleeping pills scattered between my feet.
Mom crawls around, trying to gather them.
The radio crackles with reports of mass panic and violence in nearby cities.
Remembering Dad's military gear stored in the corner, I crawl over and unzip his old canvas bag.
Inside, I find his combat knife - the blade still sharp from when he last used it for camping.
Without telling Mom, I slip it into my pocket.
The weight feels reassuring - a last resort if the shelter fails.
When Mom asks what I'm doing, I pretend to look for more batteries.
"Joey, you know we have to be ready for anything," Mom says, her voice trembling slightly.
"I know, but I can't just give up," I reply, gripping the knife in my pocket.
She pauses, looking at me with a mix of fear and determination.