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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/PostMortem33 on 2024-11-17 18:15:03+00:00.

Orange narcotic strips and pink cotton candy clouds filled the sky. Two lovers sat on a bench, shared laughs and wondered about a life together forever. Children played in parks and drew chalk animals on concrete.

Summer’s end neared. Society and life would change forever. People would meet their dead relatives again. Moments later, millions of bright stars bloomed across the sky—the rapture, or a miracle from God? The small spheres materialized into existence as if by the flip of a switch, oblivious to any and all effects against humanity. The daytime stars exploded into an orange-purple dust—a silent process save for the distant boom at the end.

A blanket of strong light covered the sky. People took shelter or averted their gaze. Nations didn’t know how to react, except for the 999 witnesses of the entire event. Gathered as one big family, those people opened a church and streamed weekly masses online. The first man to see the full explosions became the leader. Nathaniel Sullivan, once a plumber, rose to fame as the number one televangelist in the world.

Three weeks after the event, dubbed The Bloom, the 999 announced Ambrosia, a miracle medicine.

“Dearest people of this world! Do not be afraid and have faith! Do you miss your dear family and friends who’ve passed away? Do you want to see them again? Ambrosia is the way; Ambrosia is the light!” Nathan Sullivan preached live on air.

The preacher said the 999 conducted internal tests. If it all went well, Sullivan would see his wife and daughter again. The man ingested Ambrosia. His body tensed and jerked on the leather chair. His pupils dilated to an abnormal size. The reverend calmed down moments after and fixated the camera with bloodshot eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks, and white thin lines brought back memories from the past.

After a few seconds passed, the image changed to static. Reverend Sullivan kneeled before only what he could have seen. The man stared at a fixed point in the room with hands clenched together. More tears streamed down his cheeks, and his lower lip trembled.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said with arms extended, waiting for a long hug that never came.

“Daddy, come to us,” a boy’s voice whispered from a distant place. Devoid of life, it gurgled; water stuck in its throat. Yet, Nathaniel Sullivan’s eyes could not have betrayed him.

“I am. Right now,” Nathaniel Sullivan said. A concrete certainty washed over the man’s mind and body, and immense joy filled his broken heart.

Reverend Sullivan scanned the room and stared in confusion at every person in the room. The preacher moved with slow steps toward the large window and jumped from the 10th story of the sect’s church. A large crowd gathered around the mangled body. People touched the corpse as if Nathaniel Sullivan was a miracle man, a saint, a messiah sent by God to heal the entire world, end wars, eradicate famine, destroy addiction and bring closure to grieving families.

Several reruns of the incident reported no faces in the static. Social media platforms dissected the situation from one end to the other. Millions of people reported seeing the woman and boy in the static if only for a moment. Online and televised hysteria engulfed humanity’s hive mind. The sect announced a two-hour break to assess the situation. The next livestream’s numbers exceeded the first with a peak audience of 750 million people.

The doomsday cult had elected a new female leader. The live feed showed the woman in the middle of over a hundred members standing on the edge of the roof. Each pair of teary eyes studied the horizon. The preacher swallowed the Ambrosia pill first, and the rest followed suit. Seconds after, like death dominos, all the members leaped. The world heard continuous thumps and splashes, a grotesque symphony of broken bones and sinew.

Formal accusations could not be brought to what remains of the sect. All people who committed suicide did so out of free will. The remainder of the sect grew more powerful. Influential people across the world infiltrated it and the new religion became the fastest growing in history.

Ambrosia too became the fastest selling drug in the world. Entire families wanted to see deceased relatives or friends; parents forced kids to ingest the drug because grandparents waited to meet on the other side. Others only chased the high or wanted to see if the drug worked as advertised.

The sect’s shadow leaders, the people behind the curtain, spoke through government representatives or powerful media figures about the drug. The short press release read: The 999 is aware Ambrosia might be perceived as unethical, but it is a product like any other. The free-market dictates supply and demand, and no one is forced to buy it. The miracle pill has immediate and permanent effects, and we understand that. But one should look at this from another perspective: it brings closure to the end-user and allows for a final meeting with loved ones.

Priced at only $9.99/pill, the sect tailored Ambrosia for all budgets—over 100 million doses sold in the first day. People walked out of drug stores, grocery stores, markets and malls smiling and excited to see people long gone. With a 100% success rate, Ambrosia delivered on its promise: just one more moment of happiness.

News reports became hard to read or listen to. Corpses piled high, and graveyards hit maximum capacity, open fields the same. Crematories have become one of the most profitable businesses in the world.

Salmon pink and lavender purple skies blessed people’s sights with a sense of false serenity. Post-explosion Bloom dust still hung in the air, like ashes of a thousand-year burning flame, recently extinguished. People breathed in colored glitter, a disease of alien origin.

Police officer Robert Newson despised the new reality and hated to see people rushing to their deaths.

“Listen to that, Bob. They’re boasting about numbers again. This goddamn news makes me sick,” his best friend Vince said. “Damn, what this world has come to.”

“Screw them, man. It’s damaged way beyond repair. Heard the reported number of suicides now caps at 1.5 billion, but who knows the real numbers?”

“Yeah, it’s crazy. What frightens me most is that society acts like it’s normal. The sects sell Ambrosia like lollipops, and no one does anything. It’s all a gigantic mass depopulation plan. Fewer people means they’re easier to control and lie to.”

After paying the check at the diner, the men headed out for a walk and met a family. The mother, father and daughter hung from a branch of the oldest oak in town. The suicides had taken places just moments before.

“Jesus Christ, why? Why would you do this? You killed what most people would kill for,” Robert shouted at the dead parents.

The police officer thought about his wife’s and daughter’s funeral. Both stood silent, still and lifeless. A drunk driver had hit their car three years back—full frontal collision. The drunkard had fled the scene, unscathed and never to be seen again. Vince put a hand on Robert’s shoulder, removed his cap and didn’t say a word. Both knew prayers would not bring back the dead—no matter how much love existed in the world.

Society went through drastic changes. People had learned to adapt to a more gruesome reality, and to live under different circumstances and new laws. Robert Newson’s job almost became obsolete. Most people couldn’t be saved. World governments forbade police forces to intervene in cases of suicide.

A man stood in a pool of blood on a front porch with long slits on his forearms. Death embraced people with loving and cold arms and never let go.

“Will this insanity ever end, Vince?”

“As long as there’s demand for that stuff, I don’t think it will.”

Robert and Vince reminisced about the good, old days—family visits, kids playing, wives laughing, eating delicious barbecues and cracking open cold ones. Good years had gone by, and the world had morphed into a living hell.

The two best friends reached the woods at the edge of the city and walked on the trail towards the lake. Over a dozen bodies floated face down on the silvery surface. Death had become the number one pollution factor worldwide. The men stood frozen with mouths wide open.

“Jesus Christ. I just don’t understand how any of this works anymore,” Robert said.

“Let’s… Let’s just head back to my place and crash on the couch.”

Vince grabbed the remote control and flipped through the TV channels.

“A pilot crashed a plane in Romania, all 125 passengers dead.”

“A new wave of mass suicides in Japan. 85 people plunged to their deaths in Tokyo, 64 in Yokohama, 36 in Nagoya.”

“45 people at an Anti-Ambrosia protest sliced their throats open with a box-cutter.”

“A New-York man allegedly ingested Ambrosia and is still alive,” the news lady said, “and our colleague is right there with him setting up for a live interview.”

Robert and Vince looked at each other in disbelief. Could such a thing even be possible?

Jim Marshall, a blue-collar worker, had bloodshot eyes and cracked lips. The first and only known Ambrosia survivor’s face showed signs of seeing unfathomable beasts. The man rocked back and forth in the armchair.

“So, Mr. Marshall, could you tell us about your experience with Ambrosia?” the interviewer asked. “I’m sure our viewers at home want to know all the details.”

“Nothing is real. Ambrosia brings only madness and death. It’s a mere gat…

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