Death sprang to his feet, and rose with a burst of darkness over Persa's couch, his snarl stretched wide over a fleshless, angular face. His human clothes ripped apart, his hoodie now great black wings, his denim writhing wrappings and swirling shroud. A maelstrom of shadows spiraled behind him, its center the gates of Hades and Purgatory and Hell and Sheol and countless realms of torture and despair. Skeletal hands reached out—out of the shadows, out of Persa's couch and walls and ceiling and floor, tearing apart her house, her furniture, and reality itself.
Persa stood and composed herself. “Now, dear, that's just rude.”
One, two, three breaths, and Persa let out all her bottled-up rage in a putrid exhalation. A thin, greenish mist rose from the floor. All the critters that crept and crawled and swarmed, awaited her command. On her apron, the many stains grew vines and roots and tendrils that coiled around her limbs and body, holding together the skin that burst open with purulent lesions and festering boils.
Death chuckled, and waved forth his legion of the dead.
Persa raised her chin. Those weren't their dead.
Outside, the hounds howled. So did Di across the remnants of the coffee table. She kept howling with more breath than her narrow chest could hold, her jaws stretched wide, wider than any human's or beast's, until all she remained was a howling mouth with a blackened tongue and shark teeth. Skinny, grabby arms flailed at her sides. “Feed me!” she howled with the desperation of countless children, countless starving mothers with dried-up breasts, countless old-timers dragging empty bags through rummaged aisles of desolate grocery stores. Each high-pitched note tore away fragments of bone and shreds of sinew from the skeletal hands that reached out all around them.
Another howl joined Di's scream, and Persa's living room window shattered to a myriad shards. Jackson's hounds charged in to stand by their master, their three bodies blending into one with three heads baring murderous teeth. Jackson, thinner by every passing minute, gripped his walker to pull himself. A tortured effort at first that ended to a fluid ascension, each joint that cracked, each muscle that strained, each vertebrae that ground against its neighbor shedding off pieces of humanity. He rose against Death, he too Death now. His walker disassembled and reassembled itself in glorious aluminum and stainless-steel armor.
Death roared. His dead army advanced inside Persa's living room. How could those flimsy walls hold against this unheard-of kind of Apocalypse? How could reality itself not shatter?
Something brushed against Persa's sore-covered hand. One glance, and she wept tears of pus and fat maggots. Her dead daughter floated beside her, luminous and serene. Others too shone into translucent forms: Jackson's wife in her wedding dress, Di's partner in her church clothes, friends, neighbors, the nameless and the lost.
Their dead had come.
They came wielding neither Justice nor Vengeance. They charged, wielding Mercy for those who'd perished without knowing why. Death howled, hacked and slashed with claw-like arms right and left. The ethereal forms dissolved only to reappear again at another spot, growing tendrils of eerie light. They curled and coiled and wrapped around the angry dead, absorbing their rage, dissolving their darkness, and releasing them into oblivion. With each of the wrathful dead gone, Death diminished.
With Death's might waning, now Persa exhaled her fetid breath and Di howled her hungry lament, each sigh and cry a command for the nanobots inside Death's body. Confused but determined, the little critters obeyed their programming. They leapt over broken synapses, squeezed through dried-up veins, grappled onto stiff ligaments inside Death's corporeal body, until they reached his skull and burrowed deep into his brain.
The Apocalypse didn't end with thunder and lightning, nor with world-shattering earthquakes. It ended with a yawn, as Death crumbled down to Persa's sofa for another nap. Legions of critters scurried over him, burying his limp body into a writhing sarcophagus of multi-legged bodies. The dust and debris settled. All three of them returned to their previous forms, and plopped into their torn armchairs, panting. Jackson's hounds settled down, Persa's vermin scattered, and outside, the ravens picked another fight with Di's cats.
“Well,” said Jackson, and wiped his palms on his pants. “What now?”
Di rummaged through the remnants of the coffee table, until she found the rest of the sugar cubes. She held them up. “I suppose we could have some tea too?”
Persa glanced around her, at her ruined home, the cracked walls and the debris-covered floors that no broom and duster could save. Her hand tingled where her daughter's ghost had touched her. Her heart tingled more.
She straightened her apron and pulled herself up. “I'll put the kettle on.”
Full circle, at last.
The Ten Stages of War
James Rowland
i) At seven past ten, on the 24th of August, Earth’s destruction is created. Born from a womb of confusion. Fertilised by the tendrils of panic. There is an explosion in Nevada. A secret test gone wrong. For this President though, there can be no failure. The idea does not exist. So, there was no explosion. He proclaims it proudly at a press conference. The lie travels unmolested through his lips.
The media comes armed though, with photographs and recording. The President changes tack, a ship searching for an elusive gust of wind. We were attacked. The words are hurled into the press pack, the detonation sheer carnage. A thousand questions, shrapnel cutting through the air, are launched at the President. “By who?” is carried along on a throbbing current of repetition. Time freezes. Here is where the panic sets in. A single name and the President knows he may upset his foreign friend. The attacker must be a place beyond any consequences.
“Just before my breakfast,” the President says, a single bead of sweat reflecting in the light of a million cameras, “the United States of America was attacked by the hostile planet of Conaxas.”
There is a moment of silence for this birth.
ii) Conaxas’s true attack begins with the evening’s talk shows. A dozen sets of lips, devoid of independence, hold fast to protect Conaxas’s existence. They feed the planet’s existence, even as they denigrate it. “An advanced society,” one talking head offers, “Conaxas seeks to claim the universe’s secrets for itself.” “Conaxasians are well known for their aggression and godlessness,” another spokesman drones. Journalists do their best to defeat the new planet before it can take hold. The words are lobbed over the parapet: dishonest, untruthful, crazy, fake, insane. And yet more talking heads are called in to quench the networks’ everlasting thirst for ratings.
The Senator from Maine appears, wading into the middle of the fight and drawing oxygen away from the Conaxasian vanguard. “This is,” she says, her forehead crinkling under the heavy lights, “a total fabrication. I can’t believe I have to say this, but there is no planet of Conaxas. There was no attack. The White House needs to be reasonable.”
It is too late.
iii) In houses across America, men sit wedded to their computers deep into the night.
They talk to others like them. There is only one topic of discussion: Conaxas. Homes are flooded with the stench of disbelief. How could the media be so blind? We were under attack; the President is trying to defend us. Now was not the time to try and muddy his name. Their anger turns to the Senator from Maine. “Ban women from office,” one voice offers, and another calls the Senator every name under the fading sun. The sentiment spreads out from message board to message board, Facebook wall to comment sections.
Conaxas is real and it must be defeated.
iv) “Now, my next guest is the Speaker of the House. Thank you for joining me.”
“It’s a pleasure to be here, Jake.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, you look how I feel. I don’t think I’ve slept an hour since yesterday. Let’s just start at the top here. Conaxas. What do you say in response to the President’s claims?”
“Look, what else is there to say? The President is a liar. He is a charlatan. He
is a crook. And whatever credibility he had with the American people is broken. That’s why we welcome the coming election and letting the people have their say in removing him from office.”
“But, if we just hold on here for a minute, do you agree with some people in your party who say this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back? We have a President who is openly lying to the American public. Now, maybe that’s not an impeachable offence, but surely when coupled with previous miscond—”
“Jake, look. I’ve been very clear on this from the beginning. Yes, the House has the power of impeachment. But it’s a divisive tool. It’s only going to lead to more splits in our country. It’ll damage the Party as well. And you think he’ll be removed from office? There’s no chance of that clearing the Senate. So, why should we waste our time on it? Let’s focus on winning the election and making the country better for our people.”
“But ma’am, I would say, and I think other people would agree with me, that you have a constitutional duty to act. Otherwise you’re saying this behaviour is appropriate for the highest office of the land. I mean, I can’t believe I have to say it, but the President is fabricating an alien attack. You have to act. You can’t skirt away from your responsibilities.”
“We are acting, Jake. We’re going to make sure that the American people know that come November, they can vote for someone that can responsibly lead the country. What we’re not going to do is go down a path that is frankly, I have to say, delusional, in thinking that we can remove the President from office.”
“So, you’re saying that this is just another day, nothing has changed, and the President’s comments on Conaxas are acceptable?”
“You know what I think. The President is a liar. The American people will see through this. Let us all come together to beat him at the next election.”
v) The Fourth Estate goes to work. This is what it is designed to do. It makes calls; it investigates. Scientists, politicians and commentators are squeezed for every last drop of information. Every day, without fail, journalists and editors ring the White House for comment. They ask about the latest rumour or the most recent line that has leaked from the Administration. Only silence answers them.
Headlines are deployed across the internet: “Conaxas doesn’t exist and why it matters, explained”, “White House continues planetary lie”, “‘Conaxas is real’ – White House”, “CONAXAS DECLARES WAR”, “Why we must fight Conaxas”, “Peace or Pieces”.
Misinformation spreads and, in the quagmire, writers extend Conaxas’s arsenal. It is the most powerful civilization in the galaxy. There are rumours that it wiped out both Mars and the dinosaurs. While some lies are so obvious they sail clear over people’s head, others are weighted just right, embedding themselves deep into the psyche of Middle America. These mistruths wait to be nurtured.
Nearly every television in the world is tuned into the President’s Address from the Oval Office.
vi) “I want you to know, they didn’t want me to do this. They said, important people, big people, they said to me, ‘Mr. President, those people, they can’t understand this. It’s too much for them, they’ll panic. They won’t get it.’ But you people are smart. The American people are the smartest people in the world. And I think you can handle this.
“Yesterday, we were attacked. We were attacked by a planet far away, so far, so far and we don’t even really know where it is. Can you believe that? We were attacked, big explosion, and we don’t even know where it’s from exactly. But, we’re working on it; we’ve got very smart people with very good machines trying to figure it out. But we were attacked. They mean business, these people, well, I guess they’re not people, they’re aliens. But they mean business.
“And people are saying, they are actually saying, ‘oh the President is making this up. There are no aliens. They don’t exist’. I can’t believe people are saying that. If I was going to lie, I’d come up with a better lie than that, believe me. But this is the truth. We are under attack. I think you all have a right to know by what.
“The media, they’re not reporting on it. They’re being so dishonest. They won’t report on what Conaxas is capable of. So many capabilities. I can’t believe it. They weaponise everything. Water, water like you wouldn’t believe, so hot and boiling, melts a man in seconds. And, let me tell you, their leaders don’t have to worry about the dishonest media like I do. In fact, they don’t even have media. I know. Sometimes I think, hey, you know, maybe these Conaxasians are onto something. I joke, I joke. It was a joke. The media is very important but only when they’re being honest, and they are being so dishonest right now. They write stories about lies. People come up to them and lie, they say, ‘oh the President is doing this’ and they never even check with me. So dishonest.
“The media is like the Conaxasians; they are basically on the same team. Conaxas has weaponised facts. They don’t believe in them. They just say what they want, and it becomes true. You see that wall, it’s blue right? A lovely blue wall. Been there since Reagan I believe, and I love Reagan. Well in Conaxas, they just go, ‘oh that wall is gold now’ and it is. It is, folks. The wall becomes gold. How do you fight that?”
vii) Within a week, there are riots. First, it is the anti-Conaxasians. They fight against the planet’s existence. They see a moment to bring this Administration to its knees, if only others would join the fight. Others do not. The moment passes by. Soon, different crowds take to the street. They chant and sing of war. Conaxas must be destroyed. Retaliation is necessary. Those who call the President a liar are attacked. “Conaxas fights without the restraints of facts or truth,” pundits say on the television, “why do you try to restrain the President like this? Why do we put him at a disadvantage? If we’re to beat Conaxas, we have to stop worrying about objectivity. War requires sacrifice.”
The White House declares that the fight must be taken to the aggressor. On the steps of the Capitol, the Speaker of the House, grim-faced and haunted by the spectre of opinion polls, explains that Congress has declared war on Conaxas at the President’s request. The Senator of Maine applauds warmly. They will not stop until Americans are safe from this extraterrestrial menace.
viii) After six months, Conaxas has taken hold. Huge parts of the country are under occupation. Everyone from Wisconsin to Texas is ready to defend themselves in case another invasion takes place. California has already been lost. The Press Secretary explained that Conaxasian Special Forces raided the coastal state and contaminated it. There were no survivors and the land is forever tainted. A wall is built to enclose all of California to keep the rest of America safe.
Dissenters attempt to rally the truth. California is fine. Millions of people still live there, unaware that they should be dead. Conaxas didn’t destroy it because Conaxas doesn’t exist. Such talk is treason under the Patriot Extension Act and all who challenge the destruction of California are imprisoned.
ix) The war wages on until the final option is decided on. Conaxas is too powerful and advanced to be truly beaten by Earth, and therefore the problem with the current strategy is found in being Earth. The White House makes the call late one night and announces the obvious end to this conflict. Conaxas and Earth have been locked in a horrific war, but it is now over. Conaxas has won. Earth never existed; it was merely a test by insurgents in the Conaxasian government. The President explains this next to a golden wall.
Within the week, the internet is swamped in articles explaining how Conaxas had momentarily been fooled into believing it was fighting against the planet Earth, with objective reality, and the shackles of truth. Now, though, the White House had liberated Conaxas from that delusion and Conaxas’s true power could be reclaimed. It happened because it is what was said to have happened.
x) Earth is a lie.
Live Tweeting the Apocalypse
Ian Creasey
Eric Bullen @EricBullen
So this is the end of the world. Where are all the superheroes when you really need them?<
br />
Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve
I'm sorry, but before anyone destroys the Earth I must insist on seeing some proper ID.
CureFan17 @CureFan17
This is why I'm a Goth. Vindication at last!
Eric Bullen @EricBullen
Who else is listening to Wagner right now?
Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve
Hey, @CERN, I told you not to press that! #TooLateNow
Clare Murillo @Clare_83
@EricBullen I've been trying to call you but the phones aren't working. Just wanted to say I'm sorry about how it went wrong between us.
Eric Bullen @EricBullen
@Clare_83 Thanks for getting in touch. Still, being sorry doesn't magically make everything OK.
Clare Murillo @Clare_83
@EricBullen I know, but I don't want the world to end when there's still bad feeling between us.
Eric Bullen @EricBullen
@Clare_83 Wow, even the Apocalypse has to be about you and your feelings. Everything's always about you.
CureFan17 @CureFan17
Did anyone make a backup of the universe? #TooLateNow
Clare Murillo @Clare_83
@EricBullen It's not about me, it's about us. There used to be an "us". Remember the good times we had?
Eric Bullen @EricBullen
@Clare_83 You certainly had some good times. Of course, I wasn't there for all of them.
Clare Murillo @Clare_83
@EricBullen Oh, we've been through all that -- it wasn't what you think. Stop obsessing. Let go of your anger.
Alternative Apocalypse Page 11