Tag Archives: apocalypse

The Animator

Short Stories, , , , , ,

It was over. Finally over. We are still alive.

Jean had fretted for days about his work. Had it been good enough? Persuasive enough? It must have been. It meant it had to convince them that risking their lives was worth it. That it could be done. That it was necessary for their collective survival. So what if he had taken a few “creative” liberties. How would they know? Could they even know? What if they knew?

According to the news the mission commander… No wait. Team leader? Drill boss? The Big Chief? Didn’t matter. What ever the hick was titled he hadn’t made it back. The news kept repeating the last radio transmission from the bomb crew. Apparently to his daughter. But wouldn’t they do something like that anyway? Just for the drama of it all and to keep the public in the dark about what had really happened. A fail-safe in case the crew succeeded, but was unable to return. You know; pre record something self-sacrificing and heroic and then just detonate the bomb by remote if the crew was disabled.

The Drill boss (I’ll just call him that) is dead now. His daughter had lost her father plus a handful of close friends, the initial news descriptions of the team had been very specific about that, because Jean had done a good job convincing them. Was it his responsibility then? Had he convinced them to go out there and die?

He got up from his chair, a big old comfy looking monstrosity and looked at his wife sleeping in the love seat opposite him. She was finally getting some rest. When the world is ending, then… No, when the world was supposedly ending and then humanity was given a chance. That’ll take it out of you. 

He gave her a longing look and the started tiptoeing across the floor to his office. He booted up his laptop and got out the whiskey. Nothing like a buzz to dull the moral upheaval in his chest. The golden liquid burned his throat, making him grimace and he coughed slightly. 

The touch pad reacted to his shaky hand and he selected; Start-> short-cut to folder->work->animation->government. 

A popup box prompted for a password. He typed with ease: q-w-e-r-t-y-s-u-c-k-s and tapped the enter key. He grinned even though it wasn’t really funny. Not right now anyway. He selected the file “gvm_traject_alt_asteroid_4(approved)” and after few painful seconds the animation played on his screen. 

The asteroid in the video was hulking mass of rock. Like a continent in space, massive and foreboding and heading straight for the animated Earth at a velocity that could only be described as terminal. 

He shook his head, closed down the video and went back to the folder and selected the previous file. The file “gvm_traject_alt_asteroid_3(rejected)” played. The difference was immediately clear. The object in the picture was much smaller. Almost comical compared to the previous video. And still, he knew, this wasn’t the truth either.

He closed that one as well and opened the last two named “gvm_traject_alt_asteroid_2(rejected)” and “gvm_traject_miss_asteroid_1(rejected)” and placed them side by side on the screen. He swallowed another substantial gulp of whiskey and clicked play on both of them. 

The videos ran and again the size of the asteroids shrunk. They hung there, in space, like the anorexic dwarf cousins of the first one. On one video the trajectory was the same, heading straight for Earth and devastation.

On the other one….. It missed. 

And not just scraping by with the potential for hitting the planet. The trajectory was completely clear from Earth’s orbit. Close, but definitely no cigar.

He swallowed the rest of the whiskey, refilled the glass and emptied it again.

He was sure now. This was wrong and he was guilty of something. Maybe not murder since technically he hadn’t sent the men to their deaths, but he was responsible somehow. A determined expression formed on his face.

He highlighted the files, right-clicked and selected “Add to Desktop.rar”. The progress bar appeared and the computer compressed the files. He opened up a browser window and started searching for journalists to email the files to. As an afterthought he looked up Wiki-leaks as well. At least the truth would come out and his conscience would be clear.

Behind him glass tinkled and something slapped him in the back of the head. He seemed to blink with surprise and then sunk limply from his chair. A few mins later his laptop started to make a rough whirring sound. After a while, the smell of melted plastic and burnt wires filled the air. The computer died in a tiny cloud of smoke and sparks.

30 mins later a phone rings in a dimly lit NASA office. A man picks it up, listens to the operative on the other side and smiles briefly to himself. He mumbles something about “No loose ends….” and hangs up.

Authors note: Hello reader(s). I hope you enjoyed the story. I do enjoy the occasional Hollywood blockbuster, and Im sure you can figure out which one this story refers to, but I’m always annoyed by the little things lacking from the main story. Like who cleans the toilets at the secret base, who designs the outfits/gear the heroes/villains wear or who created the animations that the villain/hero uses to explain stuff. How do they fit into the context of the movie and what are their motivations, thoughts and feelings?

The Horsemen

Short Stories, , ,
There was a brief moment of awkward silence and a third voice, feminine, murmured “You idiot…” and trailed off mumbling to herself.
”Car crashes!” exclaimed a large man with a joyful gleam in his eyes. They were brown, almost reddish, in color and seemed to sparkle all on their own. “Car crashes? How do you figure…?” responded a thin and quite feline man. “Well… In the current sociopolitical climate the horrors of industrial scale war is unlikely, and you did say in this part of the world. And even with the advent of several safety gadgets… ” the last word was sneered at “human readily place themselves in harm’s way by driving around in heavy SUVs and riding motorbikes.”
“What?!” said the large man.
With a little more heat than necessary the feminine voice responded: “You are an idiot for thinking that. Car crashes are pointless bashing of metals and plastics, but it’s hardly malignant in nature. Not only are they the safest form of transportation. It completely lacks the scale and carnage of total War, even during its peak it would mean nothing. Famine is an ever present and gnawing pain to the population. Conquest implies the greed and need for power at all costs. Are you a complete…” but she was cut off by the thin man bursting out: “World of Warcraft!”
After a brief moment he corrected himself with “No wait… The internet!” and beamed at her, his colorless eyes slightly unfocused. Her face was contorted is disbelief. With almost palpable distaste she responded “World of Warcraft?”. Anyone listening in would have been impressed by the amount of sheer venom that coated every syllable. It could have left drip marks. Or, more likely, splashes.
“Yes. Hunger on a historical scale is unlikely in the western world. So I thought about what a more indirect, even unseen, harbinger could be. It should spread indifference, waste time and waste resources, just to mention some relevant criteria”. He sipped from his teacup looking expectantly at the other two and was rewarded with a look of amusement from the big man and a huff of annoyance from the woman. She had shining green eyes.
“Initially I thought obesity, but it didn’t really seem to have the scale to me. I mean sure… many people would disagree with me”, the woman snorted at him but did not interrupt, “but the scale of it is limited and people are aware of it. Even if they don’t do anything to actively stop it. But the Internet traps people with inane conversations, empty gaming experiences, lolcats and loads of absurd and ridicules video clips. Although I’m not entirely certain what a lolcat is…”. He looked briefly confused, and then rallied quickly: “Thousands of hours of work are lost every day and mankind remains thoroughly distracted from the world. Just look at the effects of Farmville…” The incomplete sentence seemed to hang there, begging for attention.
For a second nobody spoke. Only the tumble and racket of urban living was audible. Then the big man slapped the thin man on his shoulder and laughed with a deep basso voice and said “Good one thin man!”. The thin man winced, yet smiled broadly.
“I see your point. And it makes me cringe!” responded the woman sipping at her Chai tea. She preferred wine, but it was early in the day and she wanted to be clear headed. After all, there was no need to be completely hammered on the last day of everything. There was professional pride after all, even in this day and age.
While all this was going on a fourth person was sitting, listening to the debate, occasionally nodding or shaking its head to each of their points. The fourth had heard them before, only the titles and arguments had been adjusted to whatever period, region and time they had been in. There was a gesture and a waiter appeared at the fourth side. There was a whisper of something into the young man’s ear. He disappeared for a minute and came back with a tray of glasses with ice cubes, a pitcher of lemonade and some biscuits. He disappeared back into the café.
The fourth surveyed the scene. It was early in the day, hot and sunny and noisy. Madrid was like that.  The leftovers from breakfast still littered the small café table. Most plates were empty, except the one by the thin man. It looked as if he had used his food as Legos. A small house made of waffles, toothpicks and cutlery had been constructed there. He rarely seemed to touch his food. Not that he needed it really. None of them did.
They looked… good. Or at least they choose to look good. How long had it been? Not that it made any sense to contemplate it. Time after all didn’t mean anything to them. It couldn’t. He appeared to be a thin young man with very light, if somewhat sunken, skin. He had dreadlocks and wore dark baggy jeans with a dark loose t-shirt with a quote An ounce of practice is worth more than tons of preaching stitched across his chest. Very much the American college student look.
To his left sat the big man. He was big, muscled and had a furrow of shoulder length brown hair. The word big didn’t really convey his actual size. His passport listed him as being 5 foot 11 inches tall, which is taller than the average European. But to people around him, he was always perceived as taller. Even 7 foot tall basketball players seemed to be looking at his chest when meeting him. He wore a red linen shirt with the top and bottom buttons open and white linen pants and open toe sandals. Printed on the upper left side of the shirt was a quote. It read: When will mankind be convinced and agree to settle their difficulties by arbitration? His entire look read health obsessed hippy, perhaps if he hadn’t been so big it would have made more sense.
Opposite of him sat the woman looking annoyed, her green eyes narrowed at the thin man. She was pretty, not gorgeous but definitely worth an extra look. Mid forties and dressed in her white business suit, high heels and with a briefcase leaning towards the table. On her shirt collar she wore a broche of matted silver with the words Power is my mistress. I have worked too hard at her conquest to allow anyone to take her away from mealong the edge and a picture of young women in the center. She had the air of a business executive and practically oozed CEO to the world.
On the fourth chair sat the final member. Observing quietly. He glanced to the left into the window of the bistro. It noted …. other things. The person in the reflection looked odd. It´s clothes are simple enough to describe. A meticulously tailored pale suit adorned the body, a cane made from some kind of exotic light wood with a silver knob leaned to the side of the chair and clear brilliant blue eyes were looking back. On the right hand was a silver bracelet with a small delicate plate reading “There is no Justice, just me”. It was its favorite quote. Everything else, gender, facial features, build, hair color, etc were inaccessible. Invisible to everyone, except the people sitting at the table.
After a minute or so the fourth said “Its time. Let’s get on with it” and the four people paid for their breakfast and began walking towards the riverside. Just as they rounded a corner the woman commented “Obesity! It’s potentially a far greater killer by scale than car crashes or the internet…”. The voice trailed off just as thunder began to rumble in the distance.
A few minutes passed quietly as the sky darkened and rain started pattering the ground.
Quietly the young waiter came out and collected the plates and glasses, wiped down the table and arranged the chairs neatly and picked up the cash left for him. An embossed business card lay between the notes. He hurried out of the rain, went inside and retreated to the back room to study the card. It was white, thick and read “Endings, Inc” and flaunted a similarly phrased web address underneath. Flipping it over, he found a handwritten note. It had just two words. “It’s time”. He blinked a few times, read it again, sniffed and then tucked it into his back pocket, took off his apron and went out the back. Outside he sniffed the air and a small smile curved his lips. The surprise vanished from his features. It really was time. The last rider could finally come forth.
At last; Chaos would ride!
The End
Authors note:
Hey lucky (or unlucky) reader. I hope you enjoyed the story. This short story is based on a conversation I had with a close personal friend about what the modern horsemen of the apocalypse could be, taking into consideration what the major themes of western society today. Hopefully this will end up as part of a collection of short stories, currently a work-in-progress (ie. unfinished), reimagining the bible myths with a more crooked view.
Next post will be up soon.