In the middle of the night, when all were asleep, two whispering voices could barely be heard. Hidden away inside a crowded room filled with far too many people, a young boy spoke with an older man. Their whispers slipped through the cracks in the wall. And as if to highlight their secret meeting, the moon light beamed on their figures through a hole in the ceiling. 

“Did you really know them?” the boy asked, voice barely audible. “Like, were you really friends with them?” 

With a smile on his face, the old man chuckled in response. “Yes, I did know them. I knew them very well. They were my family, my pride and joy.” 

“My mama says you’re crazy,” the boy exclaimed. “She says that during the huge explosion, you got hit in the head and now your mind is all mushy.” 

“Well,” the old man started, stroking his long, gray beard, “your mama is right. That hit to the head affected my mind, but I promise you, I knew them.” 

At the statement, the boy looked up at the old man. With eyes filled with curiosity, he asked, “What were they like? Were they like how Mama said in the stories? Were they big bullies?”

“Well, they were quite the opposite,” he answered, wistfully. “I met them 20 years before Doomsday, so about 23 years ago. They were still young kids back then, orphans. I helped with fixing the appliances at the orphanage since they broke down quite often. When I visited, I would always make sure to bring a big bag of sweets for all the kids. They would always be so excited when I walked through the door.” 

Amidst his reminiscing, the old man reached into his pocket and shakily pulled out an old photo. It was a bit faded from time with its edges ripped, but it showed a group of about 23 kids, all with the same worn-out clothes, yet with bright smiles on their faces. In the center of the group, a seated mid-40s man held a small boy in his arms, while a little girl sat on his shoulder. 

At the sight of the picture, the old man grinned and pointed to the seated man. “That’s me. Back then, I had a full head of hair. Now, I hardly have any.” The old man chuckled as he rubbed his head, his hand brushing the few gray strands remaining. 

With narrowed eyes, the boy scanned the photo, alert for any suspicious-looking kids. However, after a fruitless search, he stared back at the man and asked, “Where are they?” 

“Right there.” He pointed to the kids closest to him. “The one in my lap and on my shoulders, as well as the three to my right.” 

The boy frowned. “That can’t be them,” he whined. “They look completely normal. They look like the kids I would play with at the park.” 

“Well, they were normal,” the old man said, tucking away the photo. “Those bright children did their best to help out around the orphanage. They wanted to change the world. To make it so that everyone would be healthy and happy. Then they grew up and studied to be doctors and police officers. All to create their own perfect world.” 

“But-” The boy started before being cut off by a loud boom. In a flash, bright orange flames lit up the room. The other people previously asleep bolted up, panicked. Then, not long after the first, another rumble followed. Then another. And another. Explosions went off everywhere, shaking the air around them. 

Amidst the panic, a single voice boomed. “We got to move farther away.” A tall man stood near the exit, urging people to hurry. “Come on, we gotta move now.” 

People began rushing out the door, pushing and shoving each other in an effort to escape. The boy stood up from his spot on the floor and began helping the old man up. “Come on, mister, we gotta go,” the young boy cried. 

“Go find your parents, boy. I’ll catch up with you. These old knees can’t move as well as they used to,” the old man ordered.

The boy stood there for a second, unsure what to do, before another explosion made him bolt off to find his parents. Following the crowd, the old man limped towards the doorway.

Exiting the building, his vision was clouded by smoke. Along the ash-filled streets, several buildings had fallen over from the strong tremors. Yet, people didn’t care about the wasteland before them. Their minds were filled with one goal: to escape. Masses of people climbed over the fallen buildings, in an attempt to get farther away from the source of the explosions. 

The old man didn’t have time to think. He followed the others, staying near the back. His body ached as he made his way up, but he continued to push through the pain. Upon reaching the top of the rubble, he looked back to a horrid sight. In the distance, at the center of the city, fire burned brightly. People were screaming. Children were crying. Explosions kept going off. It was complete chaos. 

At the crushing sight, he couldn’t help but lament. Where did he go wrong? He had raised those children up well. He made sure they ate healthy, studied well, and knew their rights from wrongs. He never once raised his hand against them or abused them. He made sure that they never felt unloved or ignored. From the first day he met them, he promised himself that nothing would ever hurt them again. His wish came true. Nothing ever did, but at what price?

As he looked out into the pandemonium before him, he whispered, “Yes, they did change the world, but for who?”