With A Clang (An Original Short)

prufarchy (68)in #story • 8 years ago (edited)

Nothing ever changes without a great shock. The invaders had come from within the planet itself, from a place we'd all thought legend and make-believe, a world within a world. When their spires rose out of the ocean in different parts of the world, the people had understandably panicked. All huddled creatures across the galaxy fear the unknown.

For days ships and artillery pounded at the tower, a shower of red and purple that danced around the blue hued shard. When it was clear that no damage was being inflicted and that no retaliation seemed to be forthcoming, the violence stopped and silence ensued. It was a week of silence that gave humanity a chance to adjust to the seemingly harmless ocean buildings that had interrupted the collective reality.

When a week had passed and it seemed that no communication would happen, the announcement came. The broadcast stole over the radio, internet, television and any other medium that was able to reproduce sound. Across the world, electronics long thought dead sprang to life to relay this all-important message.

It's said that the words played in all the appropriate languages by region and even by listener, and was on a loop saying "The world inside has crossed too far, we are forced to the surface. We mean no harm and we come in peace. There is little time. Soon the surface will be as unstable as our world within. We must unite, and we must leave. Look for the signs in your sky, follow them if you choose. We can save us all. One week, then we must go."

Over the next few days the announcement wrought total destruction in my family and city. My father would not listen to any "salvation" talk from some underground ocean dwelling aliens but he was a violent, bitter man who drank and hated too much. My mother was disposed to agree with my father but would sneak looks in my direction that hinted she held reservations. And then there was me, the personification of apathy. I was too numb to care.

After a lifetime of witnessing devastating ecological "accidents," near misses of asteroids we should know about, and the incessant millennial criticism delivered by a generation of baby-boomer beneficiaries, it seemed appropriate that there was a world beneath this one and that it was evacuating. I was only surprised they were offering us a ride... skeptical, really.

Blame television for my indifference.

Still, I didn't want to go anywhere unless my family came too. That didn't mean I wouldn't, just that I'd try my hardest over the next days to sway their thinking. And so it was that on the last days of the planet Earth, I was wrangling my family and trying to convince them that a trip through space with a seemingly invincible race of Earth creatures would be better than death. I even attempted to broaden my dad's racism to the planetary scale, to make him feel that we had to survive to prove that we were the best race in existence. He was too drunk to care and bared his teeth at us, so we decided to go without him.

In the end, my father watched us with a resentment that smoldered in his bleary, drunk eyes. He'd always been bitter, my father. He probably chugged a whiskey neat as the world exploded beneath him.

We found the dancing stars two miles west of the city, and the line of abandoned cars bore witness to the efficacy of the announcement. Go figure, salvation is in. We had to leave the vehicle we had packed with ample provisions and carry on by foot with whatever we could carry. We were as our ancestors, or the ancestors of those we had driven to near extinction, at least. The eldest we'd gathered among us were the most difficult to transport, but we made it work.

We were greeted by what appeared to be humans, dressed in tight silver suits. Ever the hospitable guest, I held my tongue as we were ushered toward a landing pad. The air above the ground seemed to hum and throb, vibrating and bending the air. Maybe we weren't going on a trip through space, but through a portal. I asked, but the silver suited saviors were less than forthcoming. I guess faith is an integral part of the apocalypse process.

When there were hundreds huddled in the time-honored fashion of the galaxy, a flash brought the congregation to a white... space where nothing seemed to exist. If this was death, it was painless. A blue flash directly above expanded and began to absorb the white space with blue and then hints of green until, finally, we were in a clearing surrounded by a forest. The memory is a fickle thing, but a beating heart and lungs full of air is a sure sign of survival.

In no time, dozens had struck out to find their own piece of wild land to claim for them and their families. It was a gold rush and the gettin' was good. We all saw the white and we knew that this was some kind of simulation, but we also all left something behind and were frightened. We often find ourselves clinging to the illusion of what we think we have in order to deal with the daily reminders of what we don't.

One year since the announcement and couples had children, communities had formed with varied rules and customs that looked distinctly different from other settlements. In time I assume that the old hatreds will resurface. Once humans feel safe and comfortable, they usually do. But for now the "weather" here was warm and mild, and a dozen houses had been built by teams with more happening every week. Your heart is where your home is, I guess.

No one really spoke about the end of the world, the silver-suited aliens from under the ocean, or the white non-place in which we had arrived. And now with children to care for, no one really had the time to discuss the situation when it had been clear that there was no control outside of here. Whatever here was, it was letting them have a life when the alternative had been sure death back on Earth.

I would walk along perimeter of the enclosure often and alone, sometimes running my hand along its smooth, invisible surface. Though I could see out for miles to a stunning horizon, what I could feel told me that here was where my freedom ended. I traced names on the invisible wall as though to memorialize them for some great war instead of some sad burning away. I put my abusive father's name first. For everything he wasn't, he was my father and the heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of. After I'd added several more names, I stepped back and imagined a big stelae with the names of the fallen inscribed upon it, and was content.

Each time I've done this ritual, I have the same feeling before I go: being watched. Somewhere behind that invisible barrier, it feels like there's a silver-suited group of children watching me as though on display. I can almost feel them looking into my eyes, surprised by the life and level of intelligence there, compared to themselves. The great human gorilla in some cosmic zoo, a curious relic from a dead world. I could almost feel them being ushered off to the next exhibit, their momentary curious interest in humanity's tragic story sated, and forgotten.

I did not think those gates would ever open again. Humanity did not end with a bang or whimper, but with a clang.

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