The End of the World - Part 1 (Short Fiction - Dark/Surreal SciFi)

This is day 18 for me in @dragosroua's 30 day writing challenge. I have a new short story. A continuation in my exploration of a darker subject matter and style. This is part 1 in a 2 part story - the completion will be posted tomorrow.

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THE END OF THE WORLD

Intro

I have known many people in my life. Met all sorts. Mostly they would come and go. Some would hang around, even if I forgot they were there. I wanted to write a book about these people. Call it 'The People I have Known.' Not a particularly interesting title. This much is true. Maybe my publisher can come up with a better title. I just want to write the words. Conjure up the hidden magic that is storytelling, and place the spells onto the page. Some people tell me it is a gift. I think it's more like a curse. Like the Siren's wail. Calling me to approach. I shouldn't. Danger lies there. I have heard the tales. Where do those stories originate? Has anyone survived a meeting with the Sirens? With the witches of spell-craft and word-sport? Or are those just myths, made up and regurgitated from earlier tales of woe?

I can hear the Siren's wail, her call of temptation, but I dare not approach. Is there another way to tell my story without falling into her trap? I shall try, but other dangers lurk around these parts. Unseen by most. But not by me. Because mine is a story of death. Or perhaps it is really a story of what lies on the other side of life. Standing side by side, but unseen by the other. But I have seen. And I have heard the death calls of the Banshee. Far more frightening than any Siren. For where there is the Banshee there must be death, lurking in the shadows.

But whose death has been forewarned? Whose story is being teased out? What words will appear on the pages of forgotten history, waiting to remind the lost traveller of a fate worst than death. And a story about the end of the world.

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Jolie

"There are sinners here, in our midst. Sinners around, I tell you. I can smell them, I can. The smell burns my nostrils, up into my brain. Twisting like a knife. Sinners will be found out. They always are." The Preacher Man was saying the same thing he said every Sunday. Something about sinners, and bad smells. I could never follow. I wanted to understand. It sounded like a foreign language to me. Hurt my ears as the words latched onto them and tried to reach my brain. Maybe if he said something different I would understand.

"What's a sinner?" I asked. Jolie knew things. More things than I did.

"Don't you worry yourself about that. Ain't no sinners around these parts."

"But the Preacher Man said there were. All around us."

"Only sinner here is the Preacher Man. Can't you see it? Oozing out of his skin. Out of every pore on his body. Like a green puss." I couldn't see it. I tried to. I wanted to see what sin looked like. But all I saw was the Preacher Man spitting out words like they were poison. Trying to rid his core of a venomous intruder. All I heard were the words 'sinner' and 'hell'. But I couldn't see them on him. Not the way Jolie could.

"Am I going to hell, like the Preacher Man says?"

"Don't be silly. There is no hell. Not like he says there is. Not how he describes."

"Then what sort of hell is there?" I asked her.

"The sort he is in right now," Jolie pointed to the Preacher Man. I looked, hoping to see his hell. To see his green ooze. But I couldn't see. Jolie had a gift it seems. She could see hidden things. That's what I liked about her. She knew when the Preacher Man was right, and when he was wrong. She let me know. She kept me safe. Safe from hidden things. Like the green ooze, and the hell that the Preacher Man was in. I'm glad I wasn't there.

"Have you ever been to hell?"

"No I haven't. How could I? Hell is where you go after you make love with someone."

"But we've made love." She shot me a look of disgust. Like I had run through the church naked, and sprayed the devil's venom all around.

"No we haven't. We've had sex." She turned back to the Preacher Man. Was it anger I could see, or pity? Was I supposed to know the difference? I didn't know these things. Did that make me a sinner?

"Are you sure I'm not a sinner?"

Jolie held my head, and kissed me. Like she had never kissed me before. Deeply, lustfully. She placed her hand on my crotch. The preacher man kept talking about sinners and hell-fire. I could feel the burning sensation. Was Jolie showing me the fires of hell? The preacher's words echoed in my head. 'Sinner's, all of you. I can smell you. Especially you...' Was he talking to me. From the inside?

Jolie smiled at me, a beautiful smile, like only she could. Light shone out from inside her. It spoke words of wisdom to me. They sounded wise, but I'm not really sure. Was it another language? She held onto my hand, grasped it tightly. I could feel her energy entering me, reassuring me. 'You're no sinner. There ain't no hell.' I heard her words, inside my head. Like the voice of an angel.

I held onto her hand, unwilling to let go. I waved the white flag of surrender. I showed her my tears. The Preacher Man had gone, I couldn't hear his voice any more. I could only see Jolie, and her golden hair, cascading down upon her shoulders. Her bright eyes, like doorways into another world. Mesmerising me. Teasing me. Calling me to enter into this other world.

"Make love with me," I said.

"I thought you'd never ask."

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SingSong Man

The waters were soothing when they were calm. I liked to go and look out over them as far as I could see. And wonder about what lay beyond. Out past the edge of the world. Where the hidden things lay.

People would come and go. The waters had that effect. The SingSong Man was my favourite. I saw him often, down by the waters. He would join me on the bench where I sat and watched the world sail away and then return. Like a messenger from the gods. A messenger that would never stay long. Just long enough to say hello.

I didn't know what his actual name was. I never asked him. But he liked to sing. He always had a song. He used to sing about the end of the world. And a girl named Jolie. About lands far away, beyond the water's edge. Where fire breathing dragons lived. I didn't know such a place existed. But he said it did, because he knew songs about it. So it must be true.

"Do you believe in hell?" I asked him.

"There is no such place."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I don't know any songs about hell," he told me.

"There are songs about hell. I'm sure there are."

"Maybe so. But I don't know them. So no hell. Not for me."

The waters turned black, in tune with the night sky. The SingSong Man kept singing his song. The one about the end of the world. Where mountains rise from the sea, and the gods lasso them and return them to the hidden places. Where sinners dwell. It wasn't my favourite song. I preferred the one he sang about a girl named Jolie. A sweet girl whose eyes were portals to another world. A hidden world.

"Are you a sinner?" I wasn't sure if I had ever met a sinner. I wanted to know what one looked like. I wanted to finally see one, before the end of the world.

"Not me," he said. "Don't know no sin. Wouldn't sing about it even if I did."

He departed shortly after, singing some song about taking a plane to America. I wanted to ask him how he knew Jolie. But I missed my chance. There is no hell he told me once more as he sang about flying to America. At least America exists. That gave me comfort.

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The Prophet

I spent many days watching the water. Hypnotised by its spell. By its unrelenting rhythm. Was it washing away my sins? Or bringing more to me? Jolie would know the answers to such questions. But she wasn't with me. The last I had heard she was on a plane to America. Maybe she'll send a postcard.

"I know the answers." A homeless man approached. He had eyes that sunk in deeply, leading like passageways to another world. A forbidden world. His hair coloured like dirt and nails that reminded me of broken saws. All pointing at me as he spoke. As he spat forth words like rejected pieces of food. "I know the answer to your questions."

"What questions?" I had so many. Was he going to answer them all?

"Beware of the robots," he said. "The ones that rise from the waters. The ones that wash away your sins. Those one."

"Are you a sinner?"

"No not I. But I see them, all around. Can smell them too." Just like the Preacher Man could smell them. Did the homeless man have green puss on his skin also. I couldn't see any. I didn't have the special sight. Not like Jolie.

"Who are you?"

"I am the Prophet. Sent from God I am."

"For what purpose?"

"To warn you."

"About what?"

"Stay away from the robots. Don't listen to their whirring machine noises. They can lure you in with their false promises, and confused rhetoric. Don't follow their call. Death awaits those that do."

"How will I know a robot? What do they look like?"

"Gun metal grey, and silver arms. Twisted layers of steel and disease. You will know. Not like you and me. There is no life in them. They only take life. They bring only one thing; the end of the world."

I wanted to tell him he made no sense. There are no robots that rise from the sea. And what would a robot know about sin? That's the Preacher Man's domain. He knew about sin. He could smell it, all around. If he was here I would ask him what he knew about robots. Could he smell anything odd about them?

Instead two angels arrived to take the Prophet away. At least I think they were angels. I couldn't really see. The sun shone bright from behind them and clouded my vision. Darkened silhouettes appeared and hovered over the Prophet.

"Come with us," one of them said. He didn't sound very angelic. Not like Jolie. She had the voice of an angel.

"Why are you taking him?" I asked.

"Because he has been disturbing the peace. With all his talk about robots, and the end of the world. Everyone knows there are no robots."

I knew that too, once upon a time. But now I wasn' so sure. Were these angels actually robots? How would I know?

The angels lead the Prophet to their chariot. A loud wailing sound could be heard, and bright flashing lights.

"Remember," the Prophet called out to me. "Beware the robots." The angels took the Prophet away to their own hidden place.

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Part Two >

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All images used with permission, and sourced from Unsplash.com.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you liked it then please like, comment, and follow.

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Notes From an Amateur Writer blog series:

Notes From an Amateur Writer #1 - The Search For Inspiration
Notes From an Amateur Writer #2 - A Call to Action: Interacting With the World Outside of Me
Notes From an Amateur Writer #3 - Facing the Challenge
Notes From an Amateur Writer #4 - The Soundtrack to Grief and Loss
Notes From an Amateur Writer #5 - Music as a Catalyst for Imagination: Jimi Hendrix's Little Wing
Notes From an Amateur Writer #6 - The Stories All Around Us
Notes From an Amateur Writer #7 - Introducing Nomad [A Cyberpunk Mystery in the Making]
Notes From an Amateur Writer #8 - The House at the Edge of the World
Notes From an Amateur Writer #9 - Making Peace With My Kindle
Notes From an Amateur Writer #10 - Learning the Craft of Story Structure
Notes From an Amateur Writer #11 - Adults Sit at the Big Table, Children Sit at the Small Table
Notes From an Amateur Writer #12 - The Time I Won a Lego Competition
Notes From an Amateur Writer #13 - Learning to Fly
Notes From an Amateur Writer #14 - The Tucker 48: Face to Face With a Million Dollar Vehicle
Notes From an Amateur Writer #15 - When the Levee Breaks: A Story in Song and Words

Short Fiction:

Bang Bang You're Dead
I Have No Name and I Must Scream
The Last Book Store
The Judge
The Man In The Mirror