sound from surrounding streets. Even the street preacher seemed to have moved on. Jim peered over the railing to where the crazy man had been giving his sermon. He gasped in horror as he fell back onto the stolen pool chair, nearly breaking it.
Five stories below was the body of the street preacher, a broken sign lying next to him, and everything covered in blood. Jim looked up and down the street frantically and began to notice the bodies that dotted the streets. He began to wonder what had happened while he was away. Was it the Rapture? Was it dinosaurs?
His breathing quickened as his thoughts flew from one possibility to the next. He started to panic. Suddenly, three heart-stopping knocks broke the silence. Jim turned to the window next to him. It opened slowly and David stuck his head out.
“Shirt,” David said.
Jim looked at his torso and saw his bare skin and flab. He gave a slight wave and a little chuckle as David closed the window. He entered his apartment while trying to forget what he had just seen. He found a shirt lying on the couch. It had been there a week, and smelled of body odor, but he put it on anyway, ignoring the stench.
Jim turned to the balcony entrance and stared. The reality of the situation had caught up to him. This was it, the end of the world. He looked at the giant Bible in his hand, then back to the balcony. It seemed darker now, as the sun had set farther over the building. He slowly walked toward the entrance.
“This is it,” he whispered as he stepped onto the balcony.
Jim reclined in the stolen poolside chair and opened the book, trying to ignore the horrors of the street below. He had forgotten where David had said the dinosaurs and dragons were, so he opened up to the beginning. He read something about Moses and a book called Genesis, names he had heard before. He read the first verse of the first chapter.
In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.
“Oh the irony,” Jim laughed out loud. He looked up to the sun, which had almost disappeared, and cursed. The sun was dying and the world was ending, but Jim continued to read. His eyes grew droopy. The words became blurry, and he fell asleep.
From a window beside Jim’s balcony, David Kiristian watched his sleeping neighbor. He thought about the odd old man, whose name he had forgotten to ask. He wondered if he should have answered more of the man’s questions, as strange as they were. And he was probably very lonely-peaceful, but lonely. Maybe when he woke up he should invite him over. He didn’t deserve to spend the last moments of his life alone. And he was definitely a kind old man; he even put his clothes back on.
Suddenly the building began to shake. A dark shadow cast over the window and a large object moved slowly above the buildings, blocking out the light. Behind him his wife began to cry frantically. “Is this it? Is this the end?”
Looking up to the sky, while his neighbor somehow slept on, David stared in astonishment and fear.
“No,” he said, “I don’t think it is.”
Note from the author:
This version of Happy's Nest was featured in the Spring 2010 issue of “Warp and Weave,” Utah Valley University's science fiction/fantasy journal that is published every semester. It has been edited by a student editor who lovely beat the submitted draft to death, and brought it back to life as the sexy piece of fiction you have just read. I hope you have enjoyed it.
Happy's Nest was conceived in 2007 while my wife and I watched “Dr Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.” I was inspired by its use of subtle humor to portray such a serious topic (“You can't fight in here, this is the War Room!”) and after the movie ended I went to the computer and began typing. The original draft was written in a couple of hours and it was terrible. It was the first short story I had ever completed and I read it with pride as my wife pretended to listen.
Three years passed and it went through many changes. At the last minute I pulled a new version out of nowhere. It was less dramatic than previous drafts, but the humor was spot-on and brought more life to the characters and story.
I submitted it on time, and after negotiating with the editor and then submitting the slightly revised version you have just read (which is a whole other story), Happy's Nest was accepted. I was asked to read it at the release party in front of a room of people I had never met. As a business major reading to a room full of art and writing majors, I felt kind of awkward. But, thankfully, my presenting skills are phenomenal and I had the whole room roaring with laughter and even received a nice round of applause. I didn't win any of the awards and most of the stories were better than mine, but it was a wonderful experience. I went home and framed the acceptance letter, which now hangs proudly on my wall next to my high school diploma and the minor league baseball trophy I won when I was eight. Yes, the one they gave to everybody.
There are nine short stories that intertwine with Jim Sullivan and and through them the ending is eventually explained. They will be completed and self-published when there is an increase in demand, or when I finish school and can start writing fiction again instead of long-winded business papers.
You can e-mail me at [email protected] with feedback and praises and you can send criticisms and complaints by filling out a form at www.whitehouse.gov/contact.
Good luck with that.
And a big 'thank you' to my mother for paying $0.99 to read this.
You've gotta love mothers.
-Ben Blanchette
Happy's Nest Page 2