It was my first semester at college. I was going to Westminster, a smaller university in the pine encrusted foothills of southeastern Washington state. It was cool and rainy most of the time, as such most of the students there wore their hooded sweatshirts. I preferred to wear my long leather jacket  I got as a graduation present from my grandfather. It was old and worn, the original dark brown color had faded, and in spots the material had worn to a sandy tan . This coat had survived the test of time.

I still didn’t know what I wanted to major in, so I was taking care of my gen eds. The usual mostly: writing, history, literature, and biology. They were boring, long, and started early in the morning, not a good combination for a teenager just out of high school.

I was having some trouble in biology so I was spending a lot of time in Dr. Bogan’s office. It just so happens that science faculty offices were right next to the advanced physics research labs. This fact came to my attention  when I was with Dr. Bogan after her night class.

“Okay, so we’ve covered metabolism. Are you okay with metabolism?” Dr. Bogan asked with a sigh that showed her exhaustion as she stared into my eyes, a darker forest green than usual  due to my own tiredness. She hadn’t even taken off the stark white lab coat that covered her loose baby blue blouse and khakis.

“I’m okay on metabolism; it’s really photosynthesis that is the problem. I get lost somewhere between the light reactions and the Krebs Cycle,” I said, with a horrible feeling in the pit of my gut. I ran my hand through my golden blonde hair, it was long back then. It was an internal dilemma that was bothering me, I wasn’t good on metabolism, but I wanted to go home eventually.

“Okay, so at the end of the light cycle we have…” Dr. Bogan was stopped by a loud whirr that was slowly speeding up, “damn the physics department…”

The physics department was deep into a new study. They were testing the theory that positrons are just electrons moving backwards through time and  were trying to stop one. It became readily apparent that positrons don’t like to be stopped.

“Will those physicists ever stop being so loud!” shouted Dr. Bogan over the ever increasing noise. The sound became deafening.

When a hole is ripped in time-space, people notice. The explosion was so bright, it was as if a new sun had been born right on top of the Thomas Jefferson Science Building. From eye witness accounts it started off as thin bean of pale yellow light that pierced the night sky. The clouds that were ever present in the Pacific Northwest started to spiral down into the anomalous beam that was growing by the second. Within moments the beam was looping in on itself creating a bows of light, making the nigh ancient building into a giant birthday present. The witnesses first thought that it was a stunt being pulled off by the science majors, evidently they always bend giant beams of light on mid-term week. It seemed like fun until the roof burst out with a flash that
didn’t end.

The purest white light poured from the building, and all loose rubble began to be pulled in.

All of the researchers, some of whom were undergrads themselves, were obliterated. The physics department was vaporized. The offices were decimated. Fortunately no one else was in the building at the time, except, of course, for Dr. Bogan and me.