Disturbing Dreams

The aliens were attacking, flooding the entire Earth some 30-40 feet deep. Thankfully, the government was able to issue SCUBA-type gear to many of us that survived the initial assault, and our family was among the lucky ones. As Anna, Leah, David, and I swam around in our wetsuits equipped with a tank that extracted oxygen from the water, we thought all would be well—until we learned about the virus.


The aliens were obviously smart: not only smart enough to flood the Earth, but also smart enough to know that many of us would survive. That’s why they concurrently initiated a viral attack, to take out any of us that were able to make do with the flooding.


As the crowd pushed toward the first of the spaceships carrying citizens away from our doomed planet, Anna was separated from me and the kids. Somehow, I knew that was final: we’d never see her again, in this life. Thus, it was my responsibility to get four-year-old Leah and three-year-old David through the waters to our only hope of survival. And then the breathalyzers arrived.


Knowing that there was no cure for the virus, only those who were uninfected were allowed aboard the ship. Since the early stages of the virus had no apparent effects, the special breathalyzers were necessary to determine who was infected (and thus doomed to death), and who was not. I tentatively took the proffered machine and applied it to Leah.


She tested positive.


What’s worse, David and I were tested next, and both came back negative. We would be admitted to the ship and survival; Leah, heart-wrenchingly, would not.


Now, logic dictates that the smart thing would be to say my last farewells to Leah, assuring her that our temple sealing means we’d be together again in the Spirit World, and accompany David onto the ship. Leah was going to die anyway, and David needed someone to care for him. But how could I possibly leave my little girl, my precious, four-year-old daughter, all alone to suffer a long and possibly painful death? David would board the ship; that much was assured. But how could I possibly choose between caring for my son, at the expense of my daughter—especially in her hour of greatest need, when she would indubitably be terrified and alone and crying for me? The decision was impossible to make.


I only thank God that I woke up at that point, and even more so, that my two living children were both healthy and sleeping peacefully. I pray that I will never have to make such an horrific decision; I love them too much for that.