The End of the World - Part 2 (Short Fiction - Dark/Surreal SciFi)
This is day 19 for me in @dragosroua's 30 day writing challenge. This is part 2 (the final part) of the story I posted yesterday. It is a surreal SciFi titled The End of the World. Part 1 can be found here.
THE END OF THE WORLD (Part 2)
The Girl Who Used To Be Depressed
I had enough of the water. It was no longer calming me. It had brought strangeness into my life. And I still didn't know what a sinner looked like. Perhaps I never will. I went away from that place and stayed with a girl I knew. She used to be depressed. But she wasn't anymore. Except she didn't know that. Seems no one had told her. She allowed that black cloud to follow her around even though she was happy. She seemed happy to me. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to ask her how she did it? But I wasn't allowed.
She lived in the city. In between all the tall towers and empty silos. Where office folks locked themselves up for crimes they never committed. Surrounded by cold steel and the weight of the world's concrete. If I was to ever find a robot it would be here. And sinners. This place had to be crawling with them. Trapping my friend in her depression, even though it had left her.
"Better her than us," they whispered to me. "It'll just chase after you if you help her." I wanted to help her. But they wouldn't let me. All those sinners around me made me stand back and let her be.
I could see it beside her, the dark void of uncertainty. "Why don't you leave her alone?" I asked it.
"And then what? Watch her die? Watch her succumb to the disease of happiness? It will be the end of her world you know."
"Perhaps it will also be the end of your world," I told the dark void.
"No, our world never ends. We will always be here. Tormenting someone. If it's not her, it will be someone else. Maybe you." They looked at me from the midst of their darkness. Out of the mist of depression and uncertainty. I felt their weight bear down on me.
"No, not I. I don't wish for this."
"You don't have a say in the matter."
My friend seemed happy. Perhaps not knowing she was no longer depressed was enough. It seemed odd to me, but most things do. Maybe I shouldn't upset things. Maybe I shouldn't chase her blues away, just to have them lurch after me. To knock on my door in the middle of the night. To enter my house and inject dark thoughts into my bloodstream.
"Are you happy?" I asked her.
"I don't know what happiness is."
"Are you a sinner?"
"I've been told I'm not."
"By whom?" I asked.
"The robots."
The Dog With No Name
There were too many mysteries, too many hidden things. People knew things but were not telling me. I even met a dog once who wouldn't tell me his name.
"I have no name," he said. But I didn't believe him. All dogs have a name.
"I've never met a dog with no name. Are you sure you have no name?"
"Of course I am sure. It is one thing of which I am certain."
"Maybe you just forgot it."
"Dogs don't forget their name. Maybe humans do. That wouldn't surprise me. Too busy searching for things thay have no business searching for. Meddling in the affairs of gods and robots."
"What do you know about robots?" I asked him.
"Only that I don't care to know anything about them."
"Well that's one thing you know. Perhaps its enough." I had never met a dog with no name. And then to find out he has heard about the robots. Is this what happens when the world is coming to an end? Dogs forget their names and robots emerge from the sea, to hunt down the sinners.
"Do you know what a sinner looks like?" There was no harm in asking. This dog seemed to know things. Except his name that is.
"Never met a sinner. Are you sure they exist?"
"No, not really. Not until I see one. But that's proving difficult because I don't know what one looks like."
"Probably just rumours."
"I heard they exist out past the oceans. Maybe when the world ends we will see them." I told him.
"The world has already ended. Did you miss it?"
"When did it end? What was I doing?" For a dog with no name he sure knew a lot of things.
"Long time ago. Before my time. It's the beginning of the world you need to be wary of."
"The beginning of the world? What happens after that?"
"Not sure. It hasn't happened yet."
"Are you sure you have no name?" I asked him again. He didn't respond. I wanted to ask him if the robots sent him but he had moved away. I couldn't call after him. What do you call out to a dog with no name? Probably the same thing you call out to a sinner. And I didn't know that either.
My Brother
I was a child once. Long time ago. I don't remember it. But I have photos from then. They are mostly faded, or thrown away. Scattered on the sidewalks of history. Reminding strangers of who I used to be. They would often tell me, "I know you. You look familiar." But they could never remember where from.
I had sent a part of me out once in search of the end of the world. It never returned. Perhaps it is still looking. But someone else did return. It wasn't me. It was my brother. At least he said he was my brother. I don't remember having one when I was younger. I think I would remember such a thing.
"I have come back from beyond the oceans. From the other side of the waters," he told me. He sounded just like me.
"I didn't think there was anything out past the waters. Just the edge of the world."
"There is no edge. It just goes on forever."
"So there is no end?" I asked.
"There is an end. Everything ends. Even the world. But you can't find it beyond the oceans."
"What do you find beyond the oceans?"
"Other places. Strange and wonderful places," he said.
"Like America?"
He smiled at me but didn't respond. I could see answers to so many questions glistening within his eyes. Would he share them with me? Would he invite me in and let me bask in his hidden knowledge?
"Are you sure you're my brother?" I asked. It seemed incomprehensible that I wouldn't remember such a thing. Like not knowing what a sinner looked like. Why were there so many mysteries in this world? In this life?
"Indeed I am."
"Do you know what a sinner looks like?"
"No. But I know someone who does."
"Who?"
"The Preacher Man does. He will tell you. You just need to ask."
The Preacher Man
"I want to know what a sinner looks like." I had gone to the one person who would know. My brother had promised me he would. Ask the Preacher Man he said. He knows. Well so does Jolie, but she wouldn't tell me. Would the Preacher Man be any different?
"Don't we all son. Don't we all."
"Will you tell me, so I can learn to spot them?"
"I'll do more than tell you. I will show you."
The Preacher Man stood up and removed his trench coat. I hadn't noticed his size before. He was massive, like a mountain that rose from the sea. The SingSong Man had sung about them. Had he been trying to warn me? He sung about the mountains that rose from the sea and the gods who would lasso them. Why would the gods lasso them and throw them back into the seas? Was the Preacher Man one of those mountains? Had he escaped from the gods?
He towered over me, arms outstretched like he was holding the world. Readying himself to drop the world upon me. But instead he folded his arms in on himself and removed his shirt. He wanted me to see something. He wanted me to see the truth. He stood there as I observed his gun metal grey arms. His cold steel machine like limbs, pointing menacingly down at me.
"I have come to wash away your sins," the Preacher Man said. His eyes were like radio dials the colour of blood. A radioactive disease flowed through his veins and pumped through his metallic parts. I could hear him ticking deep inside. Was that his thoughts? Was he readying a sermon for me about how I am a sinner, and that I smelt like a confused child? A dirty child born of sin. Locked away in someone else's hidden place. Away from the world. Away from all the other sinners.
I could see it, finally. The green puss oozing from his skin. From his metallic robotic surface. Jolie was right. The green puss of hell.
"So I am a sinner then?" I asked.
"We all are."
"Including you?"
"Especially me," he answered.
I wanted to ask him why he didn't wash away his own sins. Why he focused only on mine and everyone else's. I thought about Jolie. Had she shown me sin? Did it even matter? It was another world with her. Was that when my world ended? Perhaps this is just the delayed effect of dying? Perhaps I have already moved on? To another world. A better world. Would Jolie be there? I hope she comes out of hiding.
And what of the SingSong Man? He used to sing about a better world. And if he sung about it then it had to exist. That much I did know. Even if I didn't know much else. And he sung about making love with a girl named Jolie. But he never sung about sin. Ain't no sin he told me. But there is a girl named Jolie. I hope I see her again.
The Prophet had been right all along. Beware the robots he told me. Until the angels took him away. Did those angels work for the Preacher Man? Did the angels also take away Jolie? Or was that the airplane? She must be in America now, away beyond the oceans. Out past the edge of the world. Where my brother was. I wonder if Jolie ever met my brother?
I just wanted to know what a sinner looked like. Seems they don't look like anything much at all. And the end of the world. It's come and gone. Many times already. I can hear Jolie whispering it to me. Telling me the truth. Letting me know the hidden things. Things that only she knew. I can hear her voice telling me, "Ain't no sinners. Ain't no hell."
The End
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.
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
Well done post You deserve for getting Upvote from me. I appreciate on it and like it so much . Waiting for your latest post. Keep your good work and steeming on. Let's walk to my blog. I have a latest post. Your upvote is high motivation for me. Almost all Steemians do their best on this site. Keep steeming and earning.
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Your internal train of thought writing for the main characters is quite well done. Its hard to put yourself in the shoes of another's mental flow, but you are pulling it off. I think my favorite character this chapter is the depressed girl that didn't know she wasn't depressed anymore. This is true to so many people. We get in the habit of negativity (sin?). Even when we are free of it, we still assume it has its hold on us still. I guess that's the great lie of sin. Makes you think you still have it when its already gone.
I'm sorry, I missed your comment. A great comment without a reply irks me, and here I was doing just that!
You have an interesting take on the Girl Who Used to be Depressed and its relation to sin (given how central that is to the theme of this piece). You very well may be correct. The story flowed with very little conscious or deliberate construction (welcome to my subconscious,lol). So yes it does fit. Also, I guess for me looking at it now, I see someone who is trapped in other people's labels and definitions, and ways of being. Society (the city) controlling her inner thoughts and moods. And sin is another way of saying this, as it is erroneous living, and thought.
Thank you for the complimentary feedback, and for commenting. It's always appreciated.
Don't worry about missing a comment here and there from me :P I completely understand, life keeps distracting me as well. Or perhaps steemit is distracting me from life, who knows? "Erroneous living", yes. I think most of us have been trapped in the labels of society at some point or another. When our self confidence is so low, it's easier to believe the labels given us. At least, until that becomes too difficult and we are finally forced to make our own labels. Thanks for the reply!
Cool, thanks for your understanding. I hate killing a conversation dead by not responding. The Girl character in the story came out of people I have known, and even myself to a degree, who appear to wear their depression, or dark mood like a badge of honour. I am referring only to specific people, not depression in general. I have noticed some people unwilling to let go of what has already let go of them. So I guess I was asking why? What's in it for them? Do they not want to be happy? Or is their old ways making them happy, and they can't let go?
A real walk on the wild side. Highly rEsteemed!
Thank you for the support and for reading. It is a bit different, but I like your description. Cheers.
Man, this is so trippy! I feel like it sits firmly in between Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Catch-22 in terms of how it was written. I don't want to get ahead of myself, but this is shaping up to be my favorite short story of yours. I know I just said that about one of your Notes, but what I said there was that was my favorite Note. This goes beyond that.
I really like the way you approach the narrative here. Some time ago, I had wished to write something similar to this, but never came around to it because I didn't have the courage to commit to this style. You're doing it seemingly with very little effort, my friend! You've been honing your craft and it definitely shows. In the midst of HF19, you are thriving, and that says a lot about the reputation you have built up in this platform. Truly an example worth following :D
Very happy to hear this works well in your opinion. I guess the story was just a lot of loose ends and half explored ideas coming together at this point in time. When I had enough confidence to write it the way it needed to be written.
I'm going to have to review those two books again, and see what you mean. I find I am going back over a lot of older books of interest reading more as a writer than a reader. Which is education and inspirational in and of itself. Just not enough time in the day to read everything I want to.
I have found that since coming back here to Steemit the interaction side of things has increased and improved (as well as the number of spammy comments, but what can you do - it's the internet). Perhaps to do with me and my efforts at interaction, or just the scene in general. Whatever is the cause it is helping my writing, being able to converse with other up and coming great writers - like yourself.
Perhaps it has more to do with your efforts, mate. Personally, I've seen it decline drastically haha! It used to be that I was having trouble juggling comments, averaging around 20 per post. Nowadays ... hahaha
I'm not so good at marketing and networking. I wish I knew the secret to getting noticed. My approach is purely a writing thing - write, lots. Keep getting better. Hopefully talent will assist somewhere along the line. I have no idea, but we'll see. I've never made it to the trending list though. Which is why I use interaction as a guide stick. It's the main one that applies to me.
You do a good job with what you're doing. Sure, interaction could always increase, but what matters is that you're getting your work read by many people. That's all there is to it. The most effective way to market is by word of mouth, I think, and your reputation is strong enough to make that sustainable, mate.
Thank you. It's the interaction, no matter it's volume, that ultimately is the driving force for me. I feel like I am commenting far more than I used to. Getting a bit more interaction coming back in return. And quality interaction. And my writing is benefiting for it.
That's great! I'm so happy that you're getting back your due, mate :D You know that I'm a big fan, and any achievement of yours really makes me happy!
Thank you, and in all honesty it's the constant encouragement and support of readers such as yourself that is a huge catalyst for me. Especially you.
I do feel that my writing has come a long way even in the past month since returning to Steemit, and the sharing of feedback, thoughts and ideas by yourself, and those like you contribute for sure.
Amazing, really interesting And different, just when In think that you can't get better, you just go ahead and suprise me :-)
Thank you for the compliment. I wanted to explore new territories with this one, but also not come back empty handed. I think all the reading I have been doing has started to seep through to my own way of looking at ideas. This is one example of that.
Thanks again mate, really happy that you liked it.
Love it. This was wonderful.
It's a different descriptive style than I am used to. Seems to flow with the overall character of the language I was using. I liked it, but it means a lot to hear you did too. Thanks for the feedback.
Great storytelling
Thank you :)