Find out what residents in Ocean City NJ are reading. It starts here.
Find out what residents in Ocean City NJ are reading. It starts here.
“Can we see the basement now?” Frank asks their realtor.
“No, I would not recommend that,” Julie replies.
“Because that is where people get murdered.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Everyone gets murdered in the basement. Let’s move onto the bedrooms upstairs.”
“But if you are going to show us this house, then we’re going to want to see everything about it,” Frank volleys, waiting with his arms held out to catch her response.
“I’m not going to show you the basement, Frank. That’s it. No argument.”
Frank drops his arms in frustration, “Gina… I’ll be right back. Go with Julie.”
“Frank, I wouldn’t do that,” Julie cautions, never missing the opportunity for a pose; her arms crossed, her perfectly manicured nails strumming lightly along her forearm to the clank of bangles and bracelets on her wrist, her balletic legs one in front of the other to reveal the tautness of her Peloton shaped calves.
“Julie… I’m a big boy,” which draws a muffled laugh from his wife. “I can handle this,” he says addressing Julie’s concern as he winks at his wife.
“There’s nothing to see down there, Frank… Nothing! It’s a basement. It’s empty… sort of. The solar hot water heater and state-of-the-art hybrid furnace are in the garage. There aren’t even windows down there–for a reason!” The basement is where people get murdered,” she fires off in quick succession. Her agitation making Gina’s and Frank’s choice in a realtor, questionable.
“Julie. it’s okay. I’ll be right back. Please show Gina the bedrooms and I will join you shortly.”
Julie closes her eyes and takes in a slow breath through her nose and exhales lightly to calm herself. “Fine… you want to get murdered, Frank? That’s fine with me, but you might want to ask your wife if that is okay with her,” she offers, uncrossing her arms and gracefully inviting Gina to weigh in.
Frank sees Gina’s brows rise and her lips pinch as if holding back a laugh. Not sure what to make of this, he says nothing and heads back through the kitchen toward the basement door, with it’s industrial bolt snuggle into place.
With Frank’s exit, Julie storms out from the dining room, commanding Gina to follow her, the heels of her Louboutins stabbing at the travertine tile leaving the clatter of echos in her wake.
Gina is keeping up, thinking about Julie’s talk of people getting murdered in the basement. It’s silly, I know it, but her conviction seems so believable. And it’s weird. Weird like in… If Frank does indeed get murdered in the basement I would never forgive myself. She tries to clear the silliness from her head and follows Julie up the staircase, her hand sweeping along the curved cherry banister that feels so smooth to the touch as she admires the finely tapered rungs that hold it from beneath.
Julie parades Gina through the two finely appointed guest bedrooms and adjoining bath adorned in quartzite counters and glass vessel sinks that with a touch of the faucet the vessels light up from below. She lead Gina down the hallway and surprises her with a sliding door that opens into a laundry room fit for a queen. Before entering the master suite, Julie steps aside with a wide grin, a ta-da moment affording Gina the unobstructed and spectacular view through the floor to ceiling window to the russet green and autumn gold of the marshland beyond.
“It’s breathtaking. Frank is going to die when he sees this view,” Gina says, pulling up her shoulders in such anticipation and surprise.
Julie responds with a quiet ‘hmm’ as if to say, we’ll see about that. “Yes. Isn’t the view delicious,” she mutters. A compulsory response as she dusts off a fleck from her lapel.
“Speaking of which, where is my husband?” Gina says stepping back from the threshold past Julie to the staircase in hopes of seeing him. When she turns around, Julie is looking at her watch, leaning against the frame of the doorway with her Arms folded.
“Well. We might as well be going,” she says pushing off the door frame. “I’m afraid this home–as lovely as it is my dear–is not for you.”
Gina is confused. She hasn’t even stepped into the master suite and loves everything about this home. “But I love this home…. Oh, I know I should never tell a realtor that, but you already know I just love it. Don’t tell Frank I told you,” she says in a hushed whisper.
“You will not need to worry about what Frank will think,” Julie comments as she straightens her Channel jacket and starts down the staircase, leaving Gina shocked.
“Wait!” Gina calls after her from the top of the staircase, watching Julie take each step in disappointment, a sale gone to waste. “Shouldn’t we wait for Frank to see the Master? That Spectacular view?” With no acknowledgement, Gina having once found Julie’s peculiar personality almost charming is now ebbing to the point of anger. Who’s the client here, now finding herself following Julie down the staircase like an abandoned puppy.
Never looking back, Julie loops her finger through the lockbox that lays upon the emerald veins of the Biedermeier console in the foyer then opens the front door, ushering Gina to step out behind her so she can lock up the house.
“Stop… Just stop! ” Gina screams out facing the street with her arms locked straight down by her sides. She spins around to face her and stomps past Julie back into the house.
Julie knows it’s pointless to call her back and goes about her business of shutting the front door and securing the lockbox in place before returning to her Tesla in the driveway, cell in hand about to dial her next client.
Gina hears the door shut behind her–the last straw–It’s time to get a new realtor. She stomps through the dining room and thought the kitchen sweeping her hand along the deeply turquoise granite island to the open door leading down into the basement and stands at the top of the staircase, the dim Edison bulb illuminating the stairwell to the basement floor.
“Frank!” she calls out.
There is no answer.
“Frank!” she calls again. A slight crack in her voice this time as she apprehensively starts down the staircase, ducking her head below the transom of the ceiling, taking each step slowly until she reaches the unfinished cement floor and the souls of her feet feel the crumble of cement pellets while stupid thoughts from Julie get the best of her. She walks out a few steps and stops at the edge of the light looking into the pitch of blackness beyond.
“Frank… Come on…. I want to show you the master,” expecting Frank to jump out from the shadows at any moment. Nervously, she brushes back her hair, crouching slightly with her knees pointing inwards. “It’s not funny, Frank!” Come on. Julie’s left us…. She even locked us in! We need a new realtor, Frank!”
She feels a cold sweep of air brush by her leaving the smell of dank wetness in her nose. She can’t understand why people build basements in the first place. She will never use one let alone go down into one. But here she is.
The light switches off and she hears the door at the top of the staircase shut.
“You Fucker! That’s not funny, Frank. Turn the light back on!”
There’s no answer and fright is settling in. She is truly scared. The stupid thoughts Julie put into her head taking root with Frank taking advantage of it.
She jumps and screams out when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She reaches up to feel her husband’s hand, a hand she knows is his, the smooth top and callused sides from his craft as a sculpture. She holds it and brings it to her side but it seems too light, no resistance, then she realizes there is nothing attached to it. The next scream never left her mouth…..
Please visit my WattPad site for more stories in the End Of Days Series and other works
I have been a contributor on wattpad for several years now. This site has been invaluable to me as a writer of Sci-Fi, where I can test the waters with potential stories, treatments, character studies and just general fun. Which brings me to this. There was a recent competition to write a Sci-Fi Limerick… A first for me and a challenge I could not pass up. They must have liked it as much as I did because they gave me a great lead in:
We have the “most greatest” honour to host, today, The exceptional @DavidNadas, the Limerick specialist of the group. Let’s let him entertain us with wit and music.
To see other poems and nursery rhymes click here: Tevun Krus (#59)
It is hard to believe that five years ago, on this date in a NYC coffee shop on the upper east side, I started my writing career. You can see other frustrated writers around me, but this cozy place became the catalyst for putting pen to paper, or in my case, fingers to keypad. Since then, my debut novellas, November Seed & From Europa With Love, continue to have steady daily downloads on Amazon and the fan base, spread over eight countries, is still growing. So thanks to all who support and push me onwards.
For the past few years I have been working on a full-length novel called Silversides which takes place on Gliese 581 g. As a new writer, I discovered why only the most seasoned writers leave the planet to tell a story and why most extraterrestrials come to Earth to kick our ass… because when you leave the planet you have to invent everything. Along the way, I have written out weak characters and developed new ones, dragging along Kulcin who is the protagonist in, From Europa With Love. Writing is a process of one step forward, two back but I have made some great plot changes with refined twists and developed a new ending the reader will not see coming. Finally I can see the light at the end of the editing tunnel having received great feedback from Betabooks.co
I do not follow a linear path and have several other novels in the treatment stage that I am equally excited about, such as: HUM, Suicides Of Spring and Glycerine to name a few. Recently, I have joined forces with a fellow writer (G+’er) to compile a list of shorts we have written and put out onto various sites, such as: Offworlders.com (my favorite), Wattpad (where one of my shorts made it into their premiere eZine, TEVUN KRUS).and other author/reader sites. But it is G+ that has taught me to be a better writer because of the invaluable advice and knowledge learned and shared by such super cool folks.
Wattpad has been such a great platform for me, as a writer, to test the waters (no pun intended) with short stories and plots to see how they are received. In fact, the success of both novellas, November Seed, and From Europa With Love started as a short story entries in a SciFi writing contests.
Wattpad is such a great place for readers to get early access to drafts of some great stories being written that move on to become great novels. It is such a great platform for writers to connect with readers , readers to connect with writers, writers to connect with other writers and readers to connect with other readers… there… I think I covered it all.
For other stories in this series, Click Here
“What word of what I just said didn’t you understand?” Deedle said mocking him as she pulled the handgun from her shoulder bag.
“Deedle…. hold on…. put the gun down,” he pleaded rolling back in his chair with nowhere to go.
With a flick of her thumb, the laser-powered scope turned on, and she raised the red dot until it settled between his eyes.
“Don’t do this, Deedle. I thought you were coming over here to make amends? It was a long time ago. We’re friends now, right? We’ve done business together. This is crazy… We’re both going to die in a few hours anyway. I’m sorry…. don’t do this…”
“I’m not going to give you that luxury… you prick…. You don’t deserve to go out with the rest of humanity.” She took aim.
“WAIT! Just wait! I didn’t have a choice–”
“NO! I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE!” She shouted cutting him off as the red dot bounced along his forehead. She promised herself she wouldn’t lose control of her emotions over this scumbag and needed to prove to him she was no longer the young impressionable nitwit she had been in those days, new to the jewelry trade and too trusting of shitbags the likes of Donald.
Seeing him here, now, brought back thirty years of anger and sleepless nights of reenacted dreams when he claimed to have lost a piece she had loaned him; it had been her most precious piece, a vintage VCA coral and diamond leaf motif brooch worth a little more than eighty-seven grand…. a fortune to her at the time.
“Tell me, Donald…. and if I sense any bullshit… I swear I’ll blow your fucking head off!” It felt good for her to say that out loud having rehearsed this line over and over in her head during her walk along Fifth Avenue to Donald’s office.
An hour earlier, she and everyone on the planet had received a series of public service emergency alerts that a catastrophic solar flare, ten times the diameter of Earth, was heading toward them and there was no chance of survival. The Internet had become choked with posts of people making amends and being with those they loved. There was nothing anyone could do. Instead of rushing home to Dov, she had sat in her office thinking of any regrets she may have had in her life. There was one.
“What did you do with that piece I loaned you, Donald?”
He looked at her, feigning confusion.
“Donald! Answer me!” She shouted and dropped her leg back and took straight aim.
“I sold it!” He blurted out. “I’m sorry, but I needed the money… “
“To whom?” She demanded.
He was stuttering, looking for an answer that wasn’t there. “No-no one you know… please… put the gun away… we can talk about this.”
“You’re lying to me,” she said calmly. “You always flick the end of your nose when you lie… just like you did right now.” She took aim down the barrel.
“OK, OK, OK… I gave it to Anna Skylovski… Don’t shoot…” he whimpered.
“You were always such a pussy, Donald. I should have known you’d give it to that slut… I hope the blowjob was worth this bullet in your head,” she said closing one eye just before pulling the trigger and for Donald to thrust his hands in front of his face and turn slightly. The sound was much quieter than she imagined, a single pop. She looked up to see a hole in his palm and the tip of his nose missing.
“FUCK ME!” Donald screamed out as the blood began to gush. He pulled his bloody hand down and held it, growling through clenched teeth and the bubble of his voice though the tip of his shredded nose. Beyond him the bullet had exited the picture window, leaving a spider web in the glass.
“Damn! My aim sucks,” she said more to herself than for Donald’s sake. “Dov insisted I get a gun to protect myself. He even took me clay shooting, and those fucking orange pigeons went sailing forth unhindered by my bullets… I would have shot you in the balls, Donald, but I now realize you never had any.” She laughed and raised the gun once more but jumped when the sirens outside screamed out, distracting her long enough for Donald to grab the paperweight from his desk and hurl it, striking her in the forehead and knocking her onto the floor.
She was lying there, still holding the gun when Donald launched over the desk onto her, his good hand pinning the gun to the carpet.
“You stupid bitch,” he screamed inches from her face. She felt the warmth of his bloodied forearm on her throat as the drip from his nose landed her cheek. He began to press down.
Her free hand was clutched to the brooch that had come loose from the fall, the long gold pin held in her fingers. She jabbed him in the temple and felt the pin bend when it hit bone.
He roared out and rolled over onto his back, and Deedle staggered up onto her Jimmy Choos, the gun still hot in her hands. She wiped her cheek, straightened her suit and brushed the flip of her hair to the side while the sirens outside continued at a deafening pitch. The end was coming.
Donald pushed himself up against the front of his desk, defeated. “Get it over with. Do it. Do me the favor of not having to see your fucking face as my last image. DO IT!
Deedle raised the gun and held it steady, the red dot settling between his eyes. She was breathing heavily, and her head ached. She looked into his eyes that were filled with hatred, and she began to laugh. She was laughing so hard it drew Donald in as he closed his eyes and laughed achingly with her.
She wanted to pull the trigger, but the reservoir of revenge felt half full, and she didn’t want this to end, on his terms, so she lowered the gun and pulled the trigger and miraculously hit his knee. A black dot appeared on his pant leg, and he screamed out once more, a primordial guttural, “FUCK YOU” through threads of red spittle tethered from his bloodied lips.
The reservoir had drained, and she raised the gun, held her breath, and pulled the trigger. Another pop and beyond the sights of the barrel a black dot appeared on his forehead as if that was all that bullets did was to create black dots. A crimson ribbon began to drip between his eyes and along his nose where it bowed like a strand of silk onto his chest.
“No, Donald… Fuck You,” she said under her breath and lobbed the gun into his lap.
She was smiling to herself in the mirrored walls of the elevator, primping and wiping his blood from her face and throat until the courtesy ping of the elevator notified her she had reached the lobby. The doors opened, and she stepped out onto the worn marble floors with the echo of her heels the only sounds she heard as she walked toward the revolving doors that opened to the street.
Everything seemed so surreal; it was a beautiful day with not a soul in sight. Everyone who was, were where he or she needed to be. Deedle walked Fifth Avenue toward her Upper East Side apartment, not drawn in by the windows of Christian Louboutin or lured through the open doors of St. Patrick’s by the sobering choir of voices within. She walked past Bergdorf’s without admiring the window displays and was amazed not to see crowds gathered around the Apple Store. Why couldn’t it always be like this? She thought to herself as she headed along the park with the dogwoods in bloom and over the wall in the fields beyond, horses with tiaras were grazing on the chartreuse of grass — their handsome cab owners having set them free. She couldn’t remember the last time she walked home from work and took note of all the shops and cafes she had never been to or had known to exist.
With the crosstown walk behind her, she stopped to admire the tower of her apartment building and the duplex apartment at the top, a symbol of her success. She thought back to the countless dinner parties out on the terrace, her love of the kitchen and cooking, the smells of fresh biscotti on the oven sheets with Dov always stealing one before they cooled. She had some great times there, and those thoughts filled her with happiness.
It felt odd opening her own door to the lobby, where Kevin was not there to greet her with his infectious smile, eager to carry her packages no matter how small. She entered the to its emptiness, where the elevator door at the far end of the lobby was openly awaiting her, an NYC rarity. She rode up in silence to the penthouse floor and stepping out, the door to her apartment opened before she could remove her key. Standing in the doorway was Dov in his tuxedo holding two glasses of champagne.
Noticing the bruise on her forehead and smear of blood on her cheek, throat, and blouse, he asked nonchalantly, “Tough day at the Batcave, Batgirl?”
“You should see the other guy…” she huffed and dropped her bag to the floor as she reached for her glass and kissed him hard on the lips. “Come on Batman…. we’ve got some messing around to do before the world ends. Hopefully, this solar flare thing is not fake news, or I will have some serious explaining to do in the morning….”
For other stories in this series, Click Here
For other stories in this series, Click Here
“Shite, that was close.”
From the impact, the sky had lit up so bright we could see clearly down the street with its neatly parked cars, perfectly aligned like the teeth of a zipper. But no one was out and no lights came on in any of the homes; our neighbors had all moved to the underground.
When we go we want to taste the air and see the sun going down and not have the taste of someone else’s exhale lingering in our mouths or staring up at a filament, waiting for it to extinguish and be left alone in darkness with only our fear leaning in. The underground was not for us, but I suppose for those who have chosen to stay below, there is something to be said for not knowing or seeing the end coming.
For us above, we enjoy free rein of the big box stores and the design outlets to get all the lumber, tools, and furniture needed to build a roof deck on our flat… something I had always wanted to do for my family but never had the funds to do it. It’s bittersweet under these circumstances, but our roof deck rocks. We have a full working tiki-bar and a well stocked drinks cupboard up here with unobstructed views of the sunsets. And the sunsets have been magnificent lately, even knowing the colors are fed by the ash of every living thing that was incinerated from an impact.
We have allowed our fifteen-year-old daughter, Louise, to drink alcohol along with us, enjoying these last days together as a family. Tonight’s concoction of a drink is a Commet-Kaze, but instead of Triple Sec we used Orange Curaçao– stuff we could never afford but is now readily available at the off-license… free of charge of course. Honestly, I hope the end comes soon because we are running out of clever drink names. My youngest, Alec, is a space nut. When we had a family vote to stay above or go under, he was the most vocal of staying above; he wanted to see what was coming. For the record, it was unanimous, we all wanted to stay above. A weird lot we are.
Ever since the announcement that Earth would pass directly into a catastrophic asteroid storm, spelling out the end for us all, Alec has been glued to his kit of computers and monitors lined up on the dining table. Seated upon his newly acquired oversized luxury office chair with his feet dangling, he has been tracking everything coming in; it’s like having the ESA in our sitting room. He has informed us that the impact we just saw was an 8 on the Torino Scale with a low MT potential… whatever that means. He said if it had been a 9 we would have been okay but we would have had to remain inside for a while, but if it had been a 10, well, that would have been a bit of a damp squib.
Louise has been on a mission every day now, looking for pet stores to liberate or following the barking or meowing of dogs and cats left abandoned in their homes. When we find them, we open the doors, cages and pet food. We even take the freshwater fish to a freshwater canal or pond and take the saltwater fish to the sea, but we need to check in with Alec before going there in case an 8 or 9 hits off the coast creating a tsunami.
My wife, Jenny, has been a rock through all this. Me, well, when you have loved someone for eighteen years, every day as much as the first, someone you would instinctively put your own life before theirs… well… I can’t think about that right now. It’s been a long day. We’re off to bed.
We were awakened by the alarms from Alec’s monitoring alerts, Jenny and I still in a tangle with the lingering scent of our lovemaking around us. We knew the drill. If this was going to be the one to take us out, we wanted to be together through to the end. Jenny would gather up Louise, as I headed down the steps to the sitting room to find Alec inches away from the monitors, the screen data reflecting off his specs as he nibbled away on a biscuit from Marks & Sparks. Now that we were directly in the path of the storm, Alec has been sleeping here on the couch under a litany of graphs and hand drawn eclipses of near misses and impacts, looking for the one that will do us in. He never had a passion for sport or music and had always been a bit of a loner with his technical books and sci-fi pulp fiction, but this makes him happy, happier than I have ever seen him. So be it. The kit he put together came from the Apple Store and smaller bits and PC shops down the block. I’m not sure of what his kit does, but he seems to know of inbounds before anyone in his circle of plusers does. Lucky us.
“Alec. What does your crystal ball show?” I said coming up behind him, making sure to slide my slippers on the floorboards so as not to startle him.
“Daddy, you should see this one. It’s big. A 10 with a high MT.” he said not turning away from the screens.
I stooped over his shoulder, trying to see what he was seeing, but all I could make out was a ball of multicolored elastics knowing somewhere beneath it all was Earth.
“Hmmmm….” was the most meaningful response I could come up with.
“This is the one,” he said without the slightest doubt and proud that his forecasts have always proved to be spot on.
I palmed the mop of his hair, thankful he got the hair gene from his mum. “Let’s get up on the roof then,” and I helped him into his pullover hoodie with the phrase, Waiting For The Asteroid, written in front.
“I’m very proud of you, Alec.” I said reaching down to zip him up, tucking the hoodie around his ears to keep out the chill. When we got to the roof, Jenny had the mushroom heaters going and a hot tea for me in hand. We sat close together on the outdoor furniture, our overly fluffy slippers up on the ottomans while passing the tin of peanut butter shortbreads, from Luigi Zuck. This was our routine; no one should have to go out without the finest shortbreads at hand.
“See it!” Alec said jumping up and almost losing his glasses.
It started as a white dash in the night, elongating and brightening as it raced toward us.
“It’s traveling at 24.360 Kilometers per second,” Alec said. He moved to the edge of the deck, leaning over with his hands on the rail, then looked back at us with a child’s innocence.
I reached over and pat Jenny on the knee. “He’s right about this one.” And stood up to join my son at the railing, my arm draped around his tiny shoulders, pulling him tight. I was proud of him and he knew it. Jenny led Louise to the railing, standing beside me as I reached for her hand and felt the wedding ring I had slipped onto her finger eighteen years ago. We looked up at the dash in the sky, its cobalt blue tail under a gown of white forming a cone. It was beautiful, I had to admit, like a slow moving shuttlecock entering the atmosphere. Then from the tip of the cone, the object projected outward, a second stage, plunging into the lower atmosphere and growing brighter, affording us a clear look down the entire block of flats as if it were daybreak.
“Shades down everyone.” And I helped Alec with his before my own. It was bright, even through the welding goggles we were wearing. I knew Jenny was looking over at me and I turned to see her smile beneath the dark lenses.
“Don’t think you’re getting your back scratched, tonight,” she said as a statement of relief.
I laughed. “It’s been wonderful, Jen.” and I leaned in for a kiss, her head tilting to the side, her lips slightly parted and I knew her love for me and I for her would never dim. As we kissed, we drew in Alec and Louise. There is something to be said for the human spirit, something that feels it will never extinguish, even where it can’t exist.
Author’s Note: This third short was inspired by a fellow G+’er, Mark Lynch (Lynchy), who lives in London and posted a beautiful sunset of his street. It moved me and I knew the story to come with it belonged here. Thanks Mark for the image and please extend a thanks to your lovely wife for the ‘squib’ reference… I’m still laughing……
For other stories in this series, Click Here
I come from a lineage of great surfers dating back to the 21st century on Earth. My name is MoonDoggie, a name one of my French ancestors had given to her first born son, a name that could not be repeated for ten generations; so that would be, me.
I was no one special until a botTOG, named Hurn, rec’d a clip of me free falling down the face of Phaedra 18-C. It was on a dare and I was attempting a slide-in backside on a hotMELT. But things didn’t go as planned and I had separated from the hotMELT and did a slomo vertical 360 but managed to get it all back together as if I had planned it that way. Hurn’s clip made me famous as faraway as Sagittarius-Carina and I was splashed onto the cover of sineWAVE. These days, I can’t hit a break where someone or something doesn’t yell out, “Hey MoonDoggie! I dare you….” And that’s when the shit happens. And it’s weird shit.
The baggage that comes with notoriety has been mounting, so much so that my traveling buds are few and I don’t blame them; there’s a circus of bots chasing me these days, hoping to land the next cover and galactic stream. They’re as reckless as the razor scarabs you’d find at Noah’s Cove on Xeries; don’t open your mouth or they’ll find their way in and punch out your chest. My late friend, Oyen, had found that out the hard way. These days I travel solo.
So here I am on Cyan-B, having used the last remaining koins earned from that clip to get me here, bouncing my way through a couple of tokamak gateways, then knowing a guy who knew a dude running calibrations on a neckerCube who got me the last jump all the way back to the Orion Spur. The dude had also provided me some bogus metaProfs to use as chaff just before the last jump to throw off any botTOGs shadowing me. Guess it worked, not a one in sight.
It looks like Twig’s forecast had been spot on, the surf looks awesome, and as far as I know it’s the first time anyone has ever been here. I didn’t find out why until after I landed and read through the hyperLogs; turns out there’s a large amplitude dark matter wave just outside Joule, the binary star system I’m in, and my chances of successfully having gotten through that without being ripped to pieces, was like… well… one out of every 3.14. Lucky, lucky, lucky me. I must be down to five lives now. Getting out in one piece might drop me to four.
There’s a feeling only surfers get when coming across a virgin break and here I am… staring out at one. The fact is, I’ve never surfed in water; I mean Earth-like water, H2O with a salinity of 33 ppm. But this is why I had dragged an oldie from Earth, a 5.8 FocusFlex, quad-fin, V2 by DaveySky. This stick had been handed down through the generations and hasn’t been used since it was custom carved for the first MoonDoggie back in 2017. And there are very specific conditions to be met prior to its use:
I’m using it.
It actually felt good with the suns on my back and my feet buried into the sand as I read through the manual, which had all sorts of crazy vids associated with it, like: paddling, posture, duck-dives, pop-ups, drop-ins, cut-backs, aerials, etiquette, you name it. This should be a space-walk for me.
Step One: Attach leash. Running down the beach with a leash around my ankle ( a crazy relic of the past) was constantly tripping me. Why they used these things remains a mystery. I mean, isn’t that why magPads were invented?
Step Two: Get Stocked. Reaching the water I shouted out at the top of my lungs, “I’m Stoked!” Whatever that means, but apparently it was a phrase my ancestors had used before hitting the waves. I’m glad no one was around to hear me, but who cares, the only person here, is me.
Step Three: Enter water. It felt weird to be in contact with water, and the board shorts that came with the kit look and feel ridiculous on me.
I have followed all the instructions, all the way down to using the sex wax of the deck. Sex wax?
‘Seek out and have fun with Nature,’ were the last words written in the kit. So who is this Nature?
After performing my first successful duck-dive, watching the barrel roll over me, I surfaced and felt the heat of rotors raking me from above.
“Hey wormhole! Watch it!”
Hovering above me was a girl on a slat wearing full skins and a lens.
Shit! Where did she come from?
I could tell from the tilt of her head that behind the lens she was giving me a look. She throttled up, the spray blinding me momentarily. When I could finally see, it was too late. I got pummeled by the next wave in the set.
By the time I got out beyond the break, my arms were spent and the girl had already caught the next two sets. So much for virgin break. I was anxious to catch a wave, but waited patiently just like the kit had instructed me to do. I was to ‘chill’ here for a time, letting the first set roll beneath me, a gift to Nature. This Nature was starting to piss me off.
Never having ridden an oldie before, the biggest hurdle was perspective. I was not comfortable being so near the surface, let alone in the surface. How could anyone see what was coming? The kit instructed me to look for a dark blue line on the horizon, indicating an outside set was coming in. Seriously? But there it was, a dark blue line appearing on the outside. I kept paddling until I could see the set rolling in. I’ll be damned… It was a huge set.. Now I was instructed to sit up on the board–a bit wobbly– and rotate toward the beach. As the wave neared, I was to grab the tip of the board, lean back and push it down under me, then let it pop back up and forward, giving a nice boost into the wave. Slick. That actually worked and I wondered if I could do the same on my hotMELT? I kept my back arched, like the kit instructed, cupped my hands and stroked alternately until momentum took over. Dude, that was awesome and I knew the rest would be easy as I popped up and dropped….. in…. on the girl with the slat, knocking her off into the water, the leash around my ankle yanking us up into the wave as the ceiling pitched us over, my ribs hitting down hard on the board. We were in a tangle but I managed to reach down and grab her by the waist then followed the leash to the surface after the wave had passed. Ah…. that’s where the leash comes in. Smart. She was coughing hard and sucking in air as the next wave closed out on top of us, then once again by the third wave in case we hadn’t received enough punishment from the first two. When I came up, she was floating face down with her lens off but still within reach. I rolled her up and onto my board, enough so I could peel back her skins and breath air into her. Finally she spit up into my mouth, sucked in and coughed up more water, but by then we were near enough to shore for me to stand. I lifted her over my shoulder, the leash dragging my board onto the beach where I dropped down onto my knees and rolled her out onto the sand. I made sure she was still breathing before I collapsed onto my back. My hair was matted over my eyes and my eyes were caked with sand. I had sand in places I didn’t know sand could get into. But the worse was hearing and feeling the sand crunching in my teeth, sending electric chills down my spine. If that wasn’t bad enough, that’s when the punches started.
“YOU PLASMA SCUM!” she screamed in rhythm to her punches “ARE YOU MISSING SOME BITS?”
She momentarily stopped and was looking out over the cove for her slat. WHERE IS IT? WHERE’S MY SLAT?”
I didn’t have time to answer the first question before more punches followed, punches that I could hardly see coming. If it wasn’t for her state of weakness it could have been a lot worse, but I managed to grab hold of her wrists and keep her still, until she straddled me and drove her knee up into my groin. These board shorts are for shit. Fortunately the pain was so intense my forehead shot up into her temple and that was the last thing I could remember.
We came to around at the same time. She was rubbing the side of her head with her hair and face plastered with sand. I sat up with my arms propped up in back of me.
“Are you, Nature, by any chance?” I asked.
She gave me a sideways look. “No you warp…” she replied. “Are you, Stoked?”
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They said it would come, that it would start with a sunset of such unbelievable beauty it would bring tears to your eyes. They were right. It was quiet. Eerily quiet. No bird chirps or the whine of motorboats speeding across the lake. No one in their back yards, no joyous shrieks of children chasing fireflies, no smell of fire-pits and no sound of car tires rolling down the crushed stone roads, eager to get to their weekend camps. Everyone was down in their last-minute shelters with not enough supplies to outlast what was about to unfold.
My children, grand children, friends and neighbors begged me to come with them into the town’s shelter. But why miss the last sunset one would ever see. Where was there to go? Nowhere. It would take ten-thousand years just for the fires to burn out, and the only reason they would extinguish would be due to the absence of oxygen left on Earth.
I know it might seem selfish–that I should spend the end of days surrounded by family and friends–but I just wanted to spend it in my kitchen, overlooking the lake where I can see the memories of my grandchildren out on the dock, their silhouettes with fishing poles matching the paintings in my home . So here I stand, glass of Chardonnay in hand and raising it to the sky, thankful I was given this sliver of time to see and experience this magnificent world and hoping my next journey will be as spectacular. Cheers.
Author’s Note: This short was inspired by a friend’s profile picture update on Facebook (Ann). Although my interpretation is a bit dark and not what she intended. Thanks, Ann…. it is a beautiful image. Then I thought about building a collection of shorts based upon the End Of Days told through the eyes of the people who wrote them. Enjoy.
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Geri!.. Don’t do that. It will be political suicide and end your career. It’s not that bad—”
“NOT THAT BAD! Are you kidding me, Dave? You need to pull the plug on this! We’re talking about the end of days here. They have no clue what they are about to do… All the data… All the research I’ve conducted points to the fact that this experiment will be a run-away process–”
“Just listen to me, Geri. I’ve read the data and it’s….” he said coming to a halt.
“It’s what… Dave? Inconclusive? Is that what you want to say to me? I can understand these button pushers up here not taking me seriously…” she said with a snort, catching the irony of the situation. “But you Dave! You of all people…” and she stopped, a pointless end to it.
He could hear the sadness in her voice as much as the pain felt in his heart for what he was about to say to her.
“Yes… It’s inconclusive,” he said from the hammock in his backyard. There was silence on his connection to Geri who was orbiting 250 KM above him. His phone was resting along his shoulder as he looked up through the tree branches at the sky, so blue and crisp on this Indian summer day that he never wanted it to end.
“It’s inconclusive because no one has ever lived through the consequences to make the data conclusive. I’m sure this same scenario was played out on Mars eons ago…. There’s your conclusive evidence, Dave. All you need to do is look at Mars. It’s scorched.”
“Geri…. I promise… nothing is going to happen. I know you’re the smartest person on this project and everyone on the team up there has read your report and they feel the same way as I do. Trust us on this. I’m sure some folks on the Trinity Project in ’45, including Oppenheimer himself, must have had some worry in the back of their mind that what they were about to do could end the world. But it didn’t happen. They trusted their research.
“It’s not the same, Dave. They weren’t trying to open a wormhole with a so called controlled singularity.” He could hear the mock in her voice. “And it’s my research we’re talking about here!”
“You’re right, Geri. It’s not the same thing, but it is the same level of research and much more. We’re not calculating these models with slide rules; we’re using quantum computers on this, Geri. We’re about to make a gigantic leap for humanity and you will stand among history’s greatest scientists that has ever lived.”
There was more silence between them.
“Geri? You still there?”
“Then we’re good on this?”
“Dave…” she said ignoring his question.
“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me—”
“No need to thank—”
“Just hear me out, Dave,” she was running short on time. “Don’t talk. I would never have had this opportunity without you in my life. I would never have had the chance for this opportunity had it not been for you on that cold morning, seeing me in the shadows outside, Alley Bakes, as you strolled by with that bag in your hands.” She let out a saddened laugh. “I don’t even know how you picked me out from under that cardboard box…. and now that I look out from the portal of my bay, I can see all of New England below without a cloud in the sky there. I bet you’re out on the hammock, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good.” she said.
“I look forward to seeing you upon your return,” and he held up his wrist to see the counter ticking down. “T minus 1 minute, Geri. How come you’re not with the team?”
“No view there and I wanted to see Perkins Cove for the last time. Dave, It should be beautiful. You’ll see a bright flash and although you won’t see the X-ray projecta, it will bore a silent hole through the atmosphere creating a brilliant circular rainbow… a halo around a spot of emptiness…. I’ll have been gone by then and you will have about a minute to reflect on the life this world has had. Nothing lasts forever.”
“Geri… come on.. don’t think that way,” he said with a chuckle in his voice. “I thought we were good on this one?”
“Geri….” but he stopped short when a flash blinded him from above and he turned his head to shield his eyes. When the overload on his retinas began to clear he looked up and could see the partial circular rainbow through the branches and got up from the hammock and moved out into the clearing of his patio along the cove. The sun was low in the sky behind him, but above, at the center of the rainbow he could make out a black dot. He stood there, looking up until he felt the skin on his arms begin to crawl and the hairs on his forearms were curling into ash and drifting away. His eyes sparkled, but this time like melting Mylar, and everything went dark. His heartbeat was pounding in his chest and he could hear the blood boiling behind his ears as he dropped onto the pavers and pooled there as bird after bird thudded to the ground around him with the sound of flesh and earth sizzling before a shockwave of dark fire swept over.
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