Ignoring the Apocalypse
by Michael Shimek
For
Scott Harrington, the end of the world arrived with a bloody handprint against
his basement window. The hand pressed up against the glass, trailing down and
leaving a red smear.
Scott didn’t know what to make of it.
At first he thought some kids were in his yard, having a mud party from the
overnight rain. Only when he got up from his computer desk did he notice the
smeary handprint was red and that it looked more like blood than mud.
He never knew the Apocalypse would
spring up and surprise him so suddenly.
His day had consisted of working from
home all morning and then playing video games all afternoon. He used his
graphic design abilities to create several advertisements for a local real
estate agency he did freelance work for by noon, charging them six hours for
two hours of actual work. Then, with his soda and chips all set, he sat at his
desk in the basement playing one of the many MMORPGs that he invested his spare
time in. Two hours into the game and halfway through a quest with a few online
friends, the smack of something against one of the three, small basement
windows stole his attention.
He glanced up from his game, making
sure his character never stopped casting spells against the demon he fought.
The handprint was small, about the size of a child’s hand, and it dripped fresh
with—blood? he hoped it wasn’t blood—whatever syrupy substance covered the
hand. When he saw the red mark, he knew his game would have to be put on hold.
“Guys,” he said, talking into the
microphone on his headset, “I have to get going. Sorry, but something came up.”
He unplugged his headset before he
could listen to the disappointed responses; people always complain when someone
quits during the middle of a quest. He turned off the game, waiting to see if
anything else would happen.
He listened for any sounds out of the
ordinary: nothing. He tried looking out of the windows in his basement, but he
really couldn’t see much through them; plant life obstructed his view, and a
small coat of dirt covered most of the glass. To find out what was going on in
his yard, he would have to walk upstairs and see for himself.
Scott paused at the bottom of the
stairs. He looked up and saw the side door that led to the outside. He envisioned
it bursting open, a horde of zombies rushing in and down the stairs to tear his
flesh apart. He saw a black mist seep in through the cracks, floating towards
him until he swallowed it into his lungs and he suffocated. He witnessed flames
blowing the windows and door inward as fire engulfed him, burning him alive.
His imagination produced these lovely images for him while contemplating the
situation outside. As much as he didn’t want to, he needed to find out what was
happening in his yard.
Or did he? He could ignore it and go
back to his video games. In fact, every part of his brain urged him to follow
this train of thought. By going outside, he risked seeing events that he would
probably rather not see. Ignorance is bliss, as people always say.
Of course, his curiosity was too strong
and won him over.
He climbed each step with rising
trepidation. Each step brought him closer to his nightmarish imagination. Each
rising limb brought him closer to a possible impending doom. Was that really
blood on the window? Maybe he didn’t see it clearly. Maybe the whole thing was
a big prank staged by one of his friends; their jokes often carried on too far.
He stopped at the top of the stairs. He
couldn’t see anything through the closed curtains, so he grabbed the doorknob
and slowly opened the door to the unknown.
Then he heard the screams. Oh, how he
heard the screams.
Living in a densely populated neighborhood
outside of Minneapolis, the collected noises sounded like every resident on his
block screamed bloody murder from somewhere outside.
Scott slammed the door shut. His
breathing increased with his heart. As an older and huskier gentleman, the
thought of a heart attack crossed his mind, but it was soon replaced with the
fear that had caused his heart to speed up in the first place. He locked the
door and slowly walked into the living room. From the safety of inside, he
peered through the closed curtains.
His eyes bulged, and his mouth dropped.
The outside world had turned into a malignant chaos, and odd hell spreading in
every direction. He had to rub his eyes and pinch himself to make sure he
wasn’t stuck in some strange nightmare.
The natural landscape and environment
of Scott’s neighborhood was in a constant change of flux. Triangular, monolith
crystals popped up from the ground. Trees grew long spindles that branched out
and melded with houses, cars, bicycles, and other manmade objects. Mysterious
glowing orbs floated around like soap bubbles. The grass grew and changed
colors, reminding him of the vibrant Technicolor films like that of The Wizard of Oz. They sky had darkened,
blanketing everything in an eerie overcast.
Adults, children, and families all ran
wildly around the neighborhood, trying to avoid the newfound obstacles that
threatened their lives. He recognized many of the people, many of whom he had
chatted and became friends with during block parties and various neighborhood
barbeques. Blood stained their clothes, hair, and skin. Scott could make out
the gaping mouths of screams and the wide, watery eyes of terror. They ran for
their lives, and they had every good reason to.
Various creatures flew and sprinted
after their prey. Winged monsters with jagged horns, teeth, and claws dipped
down to pluck helpless victims off the ground; body parts fell from the sky to
splatter and stain the ground. They resembled a kid’s horrid imagination of
mutated butterflies, bats, birds, and other beings that could only be found in
fantasy and horror games like the ones Scott played. Beasts on two legs, three
legs, four legs, and even five legs ran down their targets, spearing them with
spiked appendages or grabbing and gnashing into them with razor pointed teeth.
A few loud booms echoed from down the street where he saw several people with
guns trying to fend off the demons, but they didn’t last long. He watched every
person succumb to the monsters that vastly outnumbered the people fleeing in
the streets.
And then there was the blood. God,
there was so much blood. It ran down the sides of the streets in rivers, washing
down the storm drains to join the sewer system. He did’t think that amount of
blood could be possible without the red fluid raining from the sky.
Scott shut his curtains. The outside world
had turned into a warzone, and not the normal human versus human warzone. It
was an end-of-the-world scenario only found in fiction. The Apocalypse had
arrived.
So far, though, everything seemed to be
contained outside. So far, the mayhem stayed away from Scott and his house. So
far, he was safe.
He hoped it would stay that way,
although he knew he would be found sooner or later. No one would be escaping
this.
Scott shoved the thoughts from his
mind. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a fresh soda from the fridge and a
new bag of chips to settle his nervous munchies. He took his goodies down the
basement. The ground rumbled for a moment, and he had to catch himself from
falling down before making it to his computer. He turned his game back on,
picked up his controller, and placed on his headset.
“Guys?” His words cracked like that of
a teenager struggling through puberty. “Anyone still there?”
“Where did you go?” Scott recognized
the voice as belonging to Jared, who lived across the country in New York. “We
won the quest, but we really could have used you.”
“An emergency came up around the house.
I’m back now.”
Apparently no one else was experiencing
the end of times. Not yet, at least. He decided not to spoil their fun, they
would find out soon enough about the new horrors in the world.
Scott loaded up his character and began
to play with his friends. It didn’t take long for the screams and bewildered
confusion to erupt from the speakers of his headset. Along with their
characters, they disappeared one by one. Without their support, he could only
play solo quests. When the power eventually turned off, he took out one of his
many trading card games and played against himself. He sat at his computer
desk, waiting, waiting for the end to discover him.
END
