FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #3

I read about it in the paper, in the subway, on my way to work.  My last day working ever, actually. the head line stands out like a fish in the middle of a desert.

casualties confirmed: 159 left dead. by what? by whom? no one ever seems to explain that. that just seems to be the job of press. leave us hanging, mislead us. just like they did back in twenty ten, with the whole swine flu thing, and how it would kill us all, when in reality, they were trying to get people back into the medical proffesion. course, as you can see, that didn't work out.

  I get of the subway, and walk away, not towards the light, but deeper into the enveloping darkness, deep into the tunnel. the remorseless cold seems like a feral beast, opening wide it's maw. as I stride, I see the starving refugees. i see the population. this is the grand USA. its population is dead or dying, just like the rest of the world. after WWIII, everywhere was like this. Einstein once said, "i don't know what weapons we will use in WWIII, but i know what we will use in world war four. sticks and stones." he couldn't have been more right. china and it's factories, the west, with it's service and business, all this was gone. what was left was Australia, the only country that had remained neutral. the only one far enough away to be safe when the solar bombs started to fall.

  I am jarred to reality when a decrepit, emaciated old woman grabs at my heels. "please, sir," she rasps. "assuage my pain." i keep walking, picking up my pace. her wretched screams fill the air. at last i am here. a small nook in the tunnel wall. I add some more grease to my hair, and gently knock. nothing. a small breeze flaps my leather jacket. I ignore it. a train probably just left station. the door finally pulls open. i push it aside and slam it behind me, removing my night vision Glases. they look like sunglasses, but far better for underground activity. 

 the small nook is actually a long hallway, with doors all over it. these various offices wereusually filled with noise. investigatons. but not today. I am jostled by Levine sitting dow. he seems  in an unusually cheery mood. "morning, Cornelius!"

"morning, Arthur," I reply, voice sagging like a bird before it falls from th sky. he stares at me. "well, don't be so goddamned serious about it. it's over!! your done!"

"and not happy about it. you know, Levine,  always wanted to amount to something, to.. to... you know."

"Iknow. truly, I do." he says, voice full of sympathy. and i can tell, he has no idea, n idea tyhe extent of pain i feel. this is my faliure. I failed. I tap my foot impatiently. "where are they! they said they would do it Right away!! that bloody Jackass Manchester!!! he sits there, and says, "Rimblat, i've arranged everything. you won't have to watch, less you want to. you said that you want it to be quick, not painless though. well, I thought about it, and i thinks 'even after all he did, i can grant him this!' so i says, alright, I'll knock him off right away!" I sigh.

Levine looks at me. "the world ain't kind. thats how it works. never played favorites. " 

this was taking to long. I walked over to the nearest office, and pulled the door open. cadavers. corpses.  counted sixteen. the smell of fromaldehyde reached my nostrils, the sight wrenched my gut. i slamed the door, and opened another. and another. each held sixteen corpses, all rotting, with wounds on their necks. finally, I opened the tenth, and final door. there were nly fifteen bodies in here. i recall the head line casualties confirmed, 159 dead.  "you... you submitted the article... it was...YOU!" my voice was a whisper. levine stood up, and i noticed the straight razor in his hand. "as promised, quick, but not painless. no gass, bringing death, no lethal injection. no sitting, Knowing your about to die, and waiting, just quick, instant, death. ready to make it an even 160?"

"do it," i said, chillingly. "i can't live without her. not after that day in the park..." i trailed off. and turned to face the other carcasses.

"try not to get blood on the jacket. You can keep it. and the glasses. iI think you'll need them more than I"

My friend, the Euthanist, was approaching. it was better this way, that it was someone i knew, not Manchester, or some other pompous old beaurocrat.

I, Cornelius Rimblat, was about to die.

And i had never felt so overjoyed.

 

back to Contest #3