It was the weekend before Christmas when the sun blazed over the mountains of Park City, Utah. It was too early for this kind of light — hours before sunrise. Old Mona Sparks was just tying on her apron for a breakfast shift at the Stew Pot. Samuel Bradley, the town hobo who sees and hears everything, was awoken by the beams of light that filtered through the cracks of the old box car that he calls home. The deer that wander the fields surrounding the dilapidated mine shacks on the outside of town were startled back to their hiding places. Crepuscular in nature, the deer had wrongly assumed that they had a few more hours of pre-dawn to graze and frolic.
"It's Judgement Day," said Michael Webber, standing on the deck with his wife Sarah.
"I'm ready," she said, taking his hand. "I —"
Whatever she had hoped to say was cut short as four glorious streaks of light, burning hot like lava, fell to the Earth and buried themselves into the snow of the mountains.
Michael and Sarah waited for what would come next — for more fire and brimstone — but there was nothing.
The townsfolk of Park City were abuzz with the morning's events. What did it mean? Surely, it wasn't nothing. Nothing so beautiful, so resplendent could be nothing.
It was later that afternoon that Cody Evans, the Park City High School QB who runs the chairlift of the ski slope during Christmas vacation in order to pick up some extra cash, came rushing into the tavern where the locals take their lunch. Some would say his cheeks were flushed from the cold. Others would say it was excitement.
"I saw them," he said wildly, before dropping to his knees. "On the mountain, I saw them. They were so beautiful."
"Saw who, Cody?" the crowd asked.
"Angels," he replied. With one last smile, a grin of pure joy and ecstasy, Cody collapsed to the ground. His heart had exploded in his chest.
Following the death of Cody, the town's bravest denizens decided to go and investigate what it is that the boy had saw. Hunting rifles strapped to their backs, they scoured the ski slopes in pairs, each one both hoping and dreading that they might be the ones to find these terrible and beautiful creatures.
The brothers O'Mally were the first to catch a glimpse of them. A flash of flaxen blonde hair, the harsh lines of oversized Dolce sunglasses, a pair of fur trimmed ski gloves and a mischievous boyish smile. Though they had been punished for showing affection in their youth, the two brothers embraced and began to weep at the sight of it all.
Bill Haley and Regina Smith — the hardware store owner and elementary school teacher who had long harbored secret feelings over one another — didn't see the mysterious beauties, but they heard them singing from around the bend.
"Baby, baby baby — oooooh!"
"We are never ever ever —"
"You don't know you're beautifuuuuul —"
"I love you like a love song, baby."
"Bill," Regina said. He turned to face her and suddenly they were kissing desperately, their love for each other finally revealed.
Once everyone returned to their decided meeting place, they all swapped stories of what they had seen.
"They looked like teenagers, but better."
"They were skiing."
"I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life."
"What do we call them?"
"I know," said Jordyn Morton. At 13, she was the youngest of the group. "I know what they're called."
Everyone turned to listen to her, in awe that such dangerous knowledge could exist within such a pure youth.
"It's Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber. They, with their talent, beauty and powerful love for one another, have touched this mountain. We cannot anger them. We must invite them to stay at our resort. We must allow them order off the kids menu. We must allow them to recklessly treat this as their home, as their teenage kingdom. Do that and this town, our lives, will never be the same again."
And so they did.