Thread: 13/05/2012 - LM- Oh! What a Lovely Apocalypse.

LITERARY MANEUVERS
The May Challenge


A reminder of the prizes awarded to the winner of the LM.
Their entry will appear in the WF Newsletter, which is a good chance to get your work widely circulated.
Now we are also offering a Friends of WF (FoWF) subscription free for a month to the first place winner!


So, do your best.

* * *


This time around in the LM Forum we use the prompt:
Oh! What a Lovely Apocalypse.

In 650 words, write a story where the line above is either the title, or is included in the story, or is in some way the theme of the story. So there should be many ways to connect to the prompt.


The judges for this round are Terry D, Bazz Cargo, Jon M and Gamer_2k4.
(To the judges, send your scores to Like a Fox via PM (Or Potty if Fox is still out of action) - and if we could aim to have them sent a week after the closing date that would be ideal.)

Now a recap of the rules:
1.The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted.
2.You can no longer edit your entry after posting. There will be a 10-minute grace period, if you want to go in there and edit a typo or something, but you should approach this as if you were submitting your work to be published and paid for. When you submit, that should be your final work, the work you are happy with.
3.And of course, there can only be one entry per member.


As always, there are two ways to post your entry:

You can opt to have your entry posted in the LM Workshop Thread which is a special thread just for LM entries in the Writer's Workshop. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights (in case you want to someday submit the work to a magazine or whatnot). Take note: If you have elected to put your entry there in the Workshop thread you must copy the link into the main competition thread or else it will not be counted.

If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you could place your here entry in the LM Challenge thread.

Everyone is welcome to participate. Judges are welcome to participate, too, but their entries will not receive a score.

This competition will close on Sunday the 27th of May. To avoid confusion the thread will close at 11:59pm (Sunday Night) LOS ANGELES, USA time.

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No comments, please - Only competition entries (and links to) to be posted in this thread.

Also hold off on the likes until the judging's done.

Now that all's set, let the writing begin!

Earth: The End is Nigh!

The Third Seal

Sean came out of his workshop and took the walk to the old farmhouse where he lived with his wife, twin children and mother. The sun was low in the spring sky. He had completed one chair today and began the seat of the second. Scooping out the seat with the draw knife was hard work, but people loved his chairs and tables and paid handsomely for them. Except to start the shape of the seat, he used all hand tools. Some compromises had to be made these days for expedience.

“You’re in late, Sean. Your mother had the kids in town today. She bought them clothes and insisted on paying.” Mary-Beth was mashing potatoes as she spoke.

“It’s her money. Who cares?” He wasn’t nasty, just tired.

“Did Pete tell you he’s just bought another horse? He says this one’s a black thoroughbred colt who didn’t pan out. He’d break beautifully from a free standing start and gallop like the wind, but once in the gate, he’d refuse to do anything but walk out when it opened.”

“A sign of nobility,” Sean said and laughed. “Most who fail at that stage injure work-out boys from refusing to load in. Just another day in horse-breeding country; I’m glad we moved here. Mom! Come forth!” She was on the screen porch, sewing. “Did you hear that Pete bought a new colt – a black one.”

His mother entered, shaking her head with a smile to acknowledge that she understood the not- so-funny jest that worked on many levels. She told her son about what she had bought the twins for summer. He feigned interest. “Sean,” his mother said, looking at her watch, “don’t you have something important to do before dinner?”

He looked at the clock above the sink. He never wore a watch. “Jesus, you’re right Mom. Thanks.”

“What’s so important?”

“I told Mike I’d call him today about that Pierce-Arrow he just restored. He’s got a buyer and I want it.”

“No Sean, not another jalopy, I won’t hear of it.” Mary Beth turned from the stove and stomped.

“It’s hardly a jalopy. We’ll be able to take it to Church on Sunday. Besides, nothing’s etched in stone. Mike is gonna have his price.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, the price.”

“Embee, we have more money than what we know how to deal with, even with all we give away.”

“I don’t want Mike to be one of your charities. He’s a bum.” She said.

“You just don’t understand him.”

“I think you only like him because he looks like a dirty version of yourself.”

“Well, I think if he shaved that scraggily beard off and took a bath he could be my evil twin.”

Sean’s mother coughed and frowned at her son.

“I don’t think he’s evil, Sean. I just think he’s a bum.” Mary Beth said.

Sean’s mother cleared her throat loudly, staring at her watch.

When his mother, whose name was also Mary, gave a silent order, he knew he had to listen. There were things she knew that he did not. He stole away from the kitchen and into his favorite place, the cellar.

He went into the old darkroom that the previous homeowner had constructed, and went into the paper safe in the cabinet where old man Sheaver had kept his photographic paper. In there was a black-painted box. It was a long and rectangular prism, closed on one long end with a square stopper of wood and a drawer pull at the center of the four-inch block. He uncorked it, pulled out the scroll of vellum and counted the blobs of wax to the third. The first two were broken. The Greek character gamma was pressed into it. He broke the seal and said: “A day’s pay for a ration of wheat and the same for three of barley.” This summer would be dry.

Oh, What a Lovely Apocalypse

The missile streaked across the clear blue sky, leaving behind it a long, thin trail of smoke, as it sped toward its target. Horace stood watching it for a moment then turned his head to the distant city with its towering structures.

Horace’s wife, Gretta, came up alongside of him and waited patiently for their fifty-seven children to run off of her and begin to scavenge and play. She did not pay much attention to them. They would not run far, and if they did, well, wherever she went, she usually returned with a few less.

“Is that it?” She asked Horace.

Horace looked back at the missile, now much closer to the city. “Yes.” He replied. “I was beginning to think it would never come.”

“Tell me the story again Horace. It is so interesting to me.”

Hearing their mother urge their father to tell their favorite story, the children hurriedly gathered around with attentive ears. Horace watched the missile until they were all settled down, and then he told his tale.

“We saw it happen in the Chelson Galaxy as well as the Glodock Region in the Henn Universe. We have seen the same in galaxies as far away as the Fourth Funjon Universe. The inhabitants, with their unquenchable desire for power develops weapon after weapon until finally the nuclear missiles are designed. The different races of these worlds will build these weapons, saying they are only for protection against their enemy, but it always ends the same.”

“How does it end Papa?” One of the little ones asked. Horace looked at them wondering which it was that asked. When he could not figure it out, he just answered the question.

“One race or another finally decides to show it will not be pushed around. Sometimes it is because they are nothing more than an evil race. An angry race with their hearts filled with hatred. For different reasons, there is always one race who finally decides to use the weapon on their enemy rather than keeping it for protection. The enemy replies by firing theirs back. Allies of each side start firing their weapons and suddenly the sky is filled with them. There are too many to stop and that is always the same. It nearly wipes the slate of the world clean from living things.”

“What about us Papa?” The same young voice asked.

This time Horace saw which of the kids it was. Giving the youngster a wink, he continued.

“The missiles will destroy almost all of the life in the world. Not all of it. You need to understand what we are. Here we are known as cockroaches, and thought of as the lowest form of life on the planet. We are hated and looked upon with disgust. But when the blasts of the nuclear weapons pass, and the radiation fades, it will be us cockroaches that will still be here, alive and strong. Well us and the Twinkie. That scrumptious cake is possibly the greatest invention by these humans.”

Horace began to speak again, when a distant blast rumbled the ground and he turned to watch. A giant cloud funneled upwards from the distant city to expand into a large mushroom cap. A ring of smoke spread around the cylindrical blast half the way up. The sky was a bright white for what seemed an eternal moment before it turned a strange magenta.

“Oh, what a lovely apocalypse!” Gretta exclaimed at the majestic distant sky.

“Yes!” Horace agreed. “The atmosphere here on earth was perfect to make it more beautiful than usual. I wasn’t sure which colors it would be, but I knew it would be special.”

The same youngster piped up again. “How do you know all of this Papa?”

“Well, I should know!” Horace replied. “It was us roaches, through discrete manipulation of human notes, that have engineered the whole thing.”

Apocalypse

“You know Stark, today my thirty five year of hard work has succeeded” Prof said.

Stark was bewildered. He could sense the excitement in Prof. Stark. He had never seen Prof so animated, not even when he had announced the discovery of the deadliest poison. Prof never talked unless to order. Unaware of inconsistency of his behavior, Prof continued “I have fulfilled my reason for establishing this HQ. I have found a way to punish the world who threw away my genius. They discarded me as a mad scientist. They snatched away my wife and daughter. Now, they will pay.”

For twelve years, Stark had been living in this place, HQ. He did not remember how or why he arrived here. But this was his home. There were three thousands young people like him. They had studied in HQ’s school where Science was religion. Most of those youngsters were scientists in HQ but some were like him- repulsed by bombs and poisons. School did not recognize any other talent. So he had been declared unsuitable for research. Prof had selected him for administrative works and he had landed here- working for founder of HQ. His work was not too difficult and he got interesting opportunities as well.

Yesterday only he had been sent to give a packet outside HQ. He used to think HQ was beautiful with all its gadgets and glass rooms. But HQ did not hold the candle to the other world. The world was so full of life and laughter. He could not have believed that there existed so many people whose ambition was not to invent something. They just lived and enjoyed. He had loved the world but had not said anything to anyone. He knew Prof hated that place. If anybody got even the inkling of his thoughts, he could be electrocuted for treason.

“I did not know you had a daughter. I thought your family was dead.” Stark replied carefully. He did not understand anything what Prof was talking about.

“No, my boy. My family is not dead. I am dead for them. They outcasted me, left me because I wanted Power. You tell me, what is wrong in being rich and king of the world?
You know what that is?” He pointed towards a huge contraption in the glass cubicle.

Stark shook his head in negation.

“That is the biggest magnet of the world. It is magnet whose pull is so much that it can attract the biggest meteorite to the earth. It can bring an apocalypse in the world. There will be cries, death and ruin. Just imagine! What a lovely apocalypse it will be! Just imagine my boy, just imagine. We will rule the world after that with our resources. We will start it tomorrow itself. Those idiot scientists will not get any time to counter”

Stark heard and realized that Prof had been working to destroy that beautiful place. He was confused. He did not want that world to die. He did not want those happy faces to disappear under the burden of inventions. But he did not say anything to Prof.

Later in the evening, Stark went to his lab. He had broken the code of HQ's master computer when he was 15. He could cripple the whole HQ from his lab. He never understood why Prof kept this provision, but he would use it for his own purpose He went and booted his own system and entered the pass code. His long-forgotten program started running. In few hours, the whole of the Master PC would collapse. All labs would explode because of it.

Tomorrow there would be an apocalypse but not in the other world, here in HQ. It might not be lovely, it might destroy his home but it would save those million people living in the world.

One Bright Night

“Will you push me, Cullson?” Ariana asked, as she stretched out her legs, kicking them into the darkness. She leaned back on the swing with her hair dancing on the wind. The long strands wrapped around her cheeks like a winter scarf.

Cullson stepped in behind her, and pressed the palms of his hands on the small of her back. He could feel the heat of her flesh against his own, and he wanted to wrap his arms around her waist instead.

He pushed her high, toward the night-sky; watching as Ariana reached out. She clasped her fingers around the light of the moon and tried to pull it back to earth. She frowned when opening her hand, seeing it was empty. There was nothing but a fortuneteller's future and past-lines running through the centre of her creased palm.

Ariana whispered so softly; it was scarcely heard over the chirping of the nighttime crickets. “Will you lasso the moon for me, Cullson?”

Cullson grinned and pushed her into the air once more. “You've watched 'It's a wonderful life' too many times, Ari.”

She tipped the swing backward and watched Cullson with an upside-down pout. “But I want you to catch the moon for me, so that I can eat it,” she paused, and stared at the sky while flying through the night. “I want to shine so that I'll illuminate the entire world at once.”

Cullson shook his head and grinned as he pressed his hands to her back. He wanted to tell her the truth; that she already lit up the world – everywhere she went, darkness turned to light. Instead, he replied, “You know, I threw out my arm playing ball,” then tickled her ribs before giving her another gentle shove.

They enjoyed the silence, before she jumped off the swing and landed in a practiced crouch. She looked up through her curtain of golden-hair, and breathlessly laughed, “Race yah!” and took off without waiting for his reply.

Cullson watched her long strides without moving. He loved how she ran through the darkness like a shadowed ghost dressed in white. Her silk dress weightlessly carried her figure through the glow of the moon that she desperately wanted for own.

***

10 years later

Cullson was walking home from night-school when he saw Ariana standing in his driveway. He stopped mid-stride and gazed at her slender form. She'd moved away only two short months after that night on the swing, but seeing her now, it felt as though he were sixteen again.

She ran at him, and he stretched out his arms and braced his legs. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight. He closed his eyes as he savoured the sound of her laughter.

She slid down the front of his body and kept her arms around his neck as she looked into his eyes. He stared back without saying a word, but telling her so much. They were silent as they held onto one another, standing alone in the quiet of night.

Cullson bent down and picked up his bag, and placed her hand in his. "I've missed you Ari," he softly whispered.

"I'm only here for a few hours, Cullson. Can you give me the moon, tonight?" She smiled and kissed his cheek.

He quietly led her to his bedroom and opened the curtains. He turned, and felt his knees get weak as he gazed at her porcelain like skin. They bathed in the cool moonlight as he made love to her.

***

He watched as she waved goodbye with her hair twirling in the breeze. The sun's breath left streaks of orange-flames as it burned through the curls draped over her shoulders.

He watched her fade into the light, and his stomach hurt knowing it was the end of their story. But oh, what a lovely apocalypse, he thought.

Oh! What a Lovely Apocalypse

644 words

God he’s hot. Like, superhero hot. What rescue missiony things must he do all day to have arms like that?

You know the scene. Late night; four couples in a living room. Kids upstairs playing murder in the dark or let’s draw on the walls. Many empty bottles of whatever wine we’re allowed to like this year. Squishy brown couches, decorative glass blobs and tall vases full of sticks. Some indie singer thrumming his heart out quietly in the background.

Kirsty’s brought her new man Jarvis and he is utterly delectable. I glance at my husband Jeff, who has one finger surreptitiously stuck in his butt crack and is scratching vigorously. The action has thrust his belly forward, his poor shirt buttons clinging on valiantly against the odds.

“Ok. I’ve got one” says Jane, our hostess, who I suspect has read a book about dinner party conversations.

“The world is going to end and you have the only space shuttle and you can choose one person to save.” Pause while she pretends to come up with her answer on the spot.

“I would save Nelson Mandela.”

I hate that. When someone goes all moral high ground in games like this. It ruins it for the rest of us.

“That’s disgusting.” Says Marcia, who has drunk an impressive amount of merlot and is showing an awful lot of leg. “Zif you’d shag Mandela. Yick.”

“I didn’t say I’d shag him.”

“Ow else ya gonna repopulate the population?”

I like this bit. It means I don’t have to save one of my bratty kids. I’m also grateful Jane didn’t offer to give up her seat and thus wreck the conversation altogether.

“Maybe I don’t think it should be repopulated.” Jane says with a look that suggests Marcia’s current behaviour is the reason behind her decision.

“I’d save that hot blonde chick.” Says my university educated husband to his brunette wife. “You know, the one in the movies.” He clarifies.

“Oh, Scarlett Johansson.” Says Marcia’s fiancé Ben.

“Yeah! Her.” Jeff confirms excitedly.

I glare at him.

“What? It’s not like you’d be around to get pissed at me.”

Jarvis laughs. “We’re so predictable, us men aren’t we? I must admit a year ago that would’ve been my answer too, but now I would save Kirsty.” He takes her hand and Marcia squawks a little.
I imagine him and me on that spaceship. Strapped in and hurtling through darkness, watching the carnage play out below us until it is safe to return. Landing on some deserted island. Taking a dip in the cool water and watching his glistening torso rise out of the...

“What?” I say to the expectant faces.

“Ben asked who you’d save.” Jeff says, looking not even remotely interested.

“Obama.” That’s right. I dropped the O bomb. Admiring looks from all the women.

“Because I would want someone who knows how to run the world.” Take that Jeff.

“And I would want the future human race to have black heritage.” And because I want to bone Obama. Obviously.

Jarvis excuses himself and I wait the appropriate twenty seconds before declaring it’s a good time to ‘check on the kids’. I time my re-entry to coincide with him in the hallway but just before I turn the last corner I hear murmuring. I stop. Peek.

Jarvis has drunk Marcia pinned against the wall in the hallway. His hand crushing her left breast while his tongue strips her lipstick off. Sure I was looking for him myself but only for a harmless flirt. A coy look and a flippant comment to pop in the fantasy bank. Nothing adulterous.

My heart goes out to Kirsty and I’m suddenly grateful that my husband will only cheat on me if the world ends. And when he does it will be with Scarlett Johansson, which, let’s face it, is understandable.

(640 words)

Jesse leaned into the microphone as the band burst into the final chorus. The drums crashed and the amplifiers shrieked with ever increasing volume. Jesse's eyes were closed as he screamed out the final words.

Let's end it here
Let's end it now

Jesse turned his back to the crowd and stretched his arms wide. His naked torso glistened with a layer of sweat as he balanced on the lip of the stage, then fell back into the crowd in a graceful arc. Hands reached out from every direction in an effort to catch him. The club was total mayhem. Except here. Except the eye of the hurricane Jesse had wrought.

The fans began ripping chairs from their footings and threw the carcasses in a pile. The air was filled with spraying beer and garbage, illuminated by the sweeping glare of the stage lights.

The fans carried Jesse high over their heads in a wide semi-circle then pressed him forward in a bulging mass toward the stage. The music continued to pulse as the crowd chanted.

Let's end it here
Let's end it now

Jesse pulled himself back onto the stage as the crowd piled onto the barricade behind him. He stood up and smiled as he looked over the riotous crowd. It was beautiful he thought. Pure and perfect anarchy. Jesse snatched the microphone and faced the crowd.

"Oh what a lovely apocalypse!" he shouted and stretched his hands into the air.

The fans roared their approval. They surged back and forth as the barricade in front of the stage folded under their weight like paper.

The overwhelmed security scurried out of sight as the crowd leapt onto the stage and tore at everything in their grasp. The band halted and rushed off the stage clutching their instruments. But Jesse stood in the midst of the chaos. "Let's end it here, let's end it now" he shouted, the music now silenced.

Someone grabbed Jesse by the wrist and in a quick jerk pulled him to the side of the stage. He gestured for Jesse to follow him and they both bounded down the steps of the backstage hallway, escaping the mass of fans still crawling onto the stage.

"Incredible night huh Caleb?" said Jesse.

"Try expensive," Caleb snapped back.

"You know Jess, every time you pull this psycho savior act, the only way I can stop you from getting strangled by the club manager is to write a check."

Jesse winked at Caleb and held open the door to the waiting car as they both climbed in.

"Such is the price of anarchy," said Jesse with a grin.

He slammed the door shut and the car tore down the alley onto the main road. Fans were pouring into the street from the club and overturning everything not fastened to the ground.

"Isn't it perfect?" said Jesse as he watched the still swirling mass of people trailing away in the rear window. He was breathing heavy and his long hair clung to his sweat streaked body.

Caleb shook his head. "Someone's gonna get hurt, Jess. Then we'll see how perfect it is."

But Jesse wasn't listening. He was still looking out at the faint scurrying fans. Caleb turned from Jesse and stared ahead at the long stretch of road. The synchrony of cars falling ahead into the night calmed him.

Caleb understood one thing above all others. Money. If every show ended like tonight it was good for business. Damn good for business. He couldn't comprehend why it worked. He didn't need to. All Caleb knew was Jesse Noble was a rocket that had just launched.

If I take the ride, Caleb thought, my share will be measured in millions. With a faint smile on the corner of his lips Caleb murmured under his breath "A lovely apocalypse ? Damn straight."

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1527044
Production Pictures Presents

A Post-Apocalyptic Story
(548 words)

Robert brushed the debris off a metal device. He turned it around, inspecting it curiously. It had a few splotches of dried blood on its screen, but it was still intact. A smile crept across his dried, cracked lips. It has been awhile since he held one of this. “Vincent,” he called. “Vincent, come here.”

“Did you find something, Pa?”

Robert gave the device to his son. “It’s a phone.”

“A phone?” Vincent said, surprised. “It’s so small. Where are the dials? And there’s only one button.”

“It’s a smart phone. It only needs one button.”

“Does it still work?”

“I’m not sure. Give it here.” Vincent handed the phone back to his father, his eyes fixed on it with a certain level of curiosity. Robert pressed the ‘on’ button at the top of the phone but it did not respond. “It’s either out of battery or broken. A pity.”

Vincent sighed. “Well that sucks.”

“Perhaps Steve could tinker with it. If we’re lucky, he might get it to work again.” Robert slipped the phone into one of his vest pockets. Notching an arrow into his makeshift bow, Robert exited the shop and onto the main street. Vincent followed closely behind, machete in hand.

The street was covered in overgrowth. Vines tangled in and out of the stranded cars and along the street. Moss and wild plants grew in nearly every corner. Robert looked towards the sky; the sun was slowly fading behind the skyscrapers, casting long shadows beneath its towering gaze. “We need to get back,” said Robert, and they were off.

Their journey out of the city was done in silent. They stopped near an abandoned gas station to rest and eat. Robert took the opportunity to adjust the tension of his bow. Eventually, Vincent broke the silence. “Dad, how was it like? Before the apocalypse.”

Robert waited awhile before answering. “It was…different,” he finally replied, still calibrating his bow. He pulled the string back, testing its tension, and frowned as he released it. “We had electricity and flowing water in our houses. Cars and airplanes that would takes us from place to another. Humanity was on the brink of greatest, but simple greed and selfishness were our downfall.” Robert tuned the bow and tested the tension again. Shaking his head, he continued. “Discrimination lead to war and war lead to death.”

“It just seems weird, that humans would turn against each other.”

“Priorities have changed, Vincent. It’s no longer about power and wealth, but about survival. A time will come when those issues will become prominent again and humans will continue in their cycle of destruction, but it won’t be for a very long time.” Robert looked at Vincent and smiled. “I’d say that the apocalypse was the best thing that has ever happened to humanity”.

Vincent chuckled. “I’m not sure if the Blighted will agree you, but I see your point.”

Robert scoffed. “Those brain-eaters wouldn’t agree on anything. They’d much rather have you for supper. Grab your gear and let’s get moving. We’ll have to travel through the night.”

“Have you actually killed anything with that bow?” asked Vincent as he handed the quiver full of arrows to his father.

Robert shook his head. “No, and I’m not intending to start tonight.”

***

Eat On, Hungry Giant
(650 words)

Scientists called it a cosmic amoeba, a living blob that consumes entire galaxies. Unstoppable. Apocalyptic. Me, I call it The Great Space Mouth, in honor of the rest of us.

When I developed my powers, people wanted to know: was I like the comic guy? The Man of Steel? Protector of humanity? I smiled, puffed out my chest, and answered, "Yes."

I lied.

Truth is, I'm a nobody. Always have been. Want to know how I became Super? I was groping garbage in the rain, looking for aluminum. There, I said it. I was society's waste. People gagged when they saw me. I slept in a tent.

That evening I found a half-eaten hotdog with a snot-covered napkin. Snot I could deal with. The wastefulness, I couldn't. Did you know we could feed the world with the food that's thrown away?

Not like they care. Take a bite, toss the rest. This egg? Too runny. That steak? Overcooked. Into the trash with it all.

I declared war against gluttony, then and there. Raising the snotty hotdog, I stomped into the intersection. The drivers honked and swerved, their tires screeching, their headlights sweeping through the rain.

I expected a revolution. Instead, I was struck by lightning. Twice.

I awoke with an EMT compressing my chest. My clothes were singed and I reeked, but I was alive. Next thing I knew, I had torn a hole in the ambulance roof.

Ever seen someone faint after watching you fly? I have.

The Real Superman, they called me. Politicians donated money; hotels comped rooms; women made advances. I obliged them all. Criminals disappeared once they realized burglary wasn't worth being torn limb from limb.

Then, the letters came. A few, at first. Then thousands. "Dear Superman, please make Mama not sick", "Mr. Superman, make Daddy stop hitting me". Disease, abuse, poverty, they wanted me to fix it all. So much despair and misguided hope.

But the note from a Tanzanian boy got me. "Super Mister Man," it said, "you're my hero. If you have time, please bring water to my village." There was a crayon drawing of stick figures with their arms outstretched, and me, in a cape, holding a glass of liquid. Everyone was smiling. No return address. Just a boy from halfway around the world asking for something to drink.

After that, I went on television. "Stop wasting food," I said. The journalist chewed a sandwich, mayonnaise smeared across her cheeks. "Help the hungry," I demanded. The cameraman slurped his soda and belched. "People are starving," I cried. The producer stood in the background, picking through a pizza box. "Who ordered pineapple?" he shouted. "I hate pineapple."

I lost it.

Next day's headline: Superman Destroys Building. Protestors demanded my arrest.

Then NASA released footage of Saturn being devoured. Even the great belt was gobbled like a galactic onion ring. Suddenly it was all "Superman, help us!" this and "Save us, Superman!" that. I've never seen so many people publicly wet themselves.

Now that giant phagocyte is leeching the moon while missiles spray through the stratosphere, and I've got a perfect view. Lying on my back, my hands behind my head, I'm loving the irony.

"Are you gonna stop it, Super Mister Man?"

I raise an eyebrow at the boy. "What do you think?"

He smiles. "I think you should make them worry a bit longer."

Sounds good to me. I open a bottle and hand it to the boy. The plastic is cool and dripping. Behind us, villagers rummage through the Aqua Pure delivery truck. The tires were blown out when I dropped it from the sky. The license plate still says New York.

There's a rumble, and part of the moon disappears. We can see the bombs splashing against the creature like fireworks.

Me, I'm smiling ear to ear. There's enough water here for everyone to enjoy the show.

* * *

Got my backside kicked last time. That'll teach me to try and be clever. What's next? Oh what a lovely Apocalypse. Interesting...


Let's see. How can we twist this one on its head?



What do I know about the Apocalypse? Four horsemen: War, Famine, Pestilence and? I can't remember. Doh!
How about four horsewoman? Gotta have Nag. Um... Spendthrift? Sniffles. Bad-hair day. This isn't working. The feminist in me is objecting.


What about Ragnarök? I can just see Hawke, LaFox, Foxee and Candid as Valkyries. A big, wide-screen spectacular with Bifrost burning and Ice Giants riding swift-moving glacier beasts. A chorus of leather clad Vikings beating axes against shields in a truly terrifying war chant.


Pity the Romans didn't have an end of the world myth. I would have loved to include my favourite Goddess, Cloacina.


Ting! I have an idea.


P.C.


Memo from S.


New ruling: To keep within the guidelines the the four horsemen will now become the four horse-persons. One of which will be a token female.


All horse-persons will be equipped with personal protective equipment. This equipment is to include a yellow hard hat, an orange reflective vest, steel-toe-capped boots and safety weapons.


For the correct ethnic mix, at least two members of the team must come from alternative myths or from fiction.


Before riding out a risk assessment must be undertaken.


All members must carry warning tape, warning cones and a clip-board.


All members of the team must be enrolled for the indiscriminate violence NVQ.


There will be a compulsory test for decibel levels. Ear defenders may be issued.


A fire drill will be held, make sure the assembly point is correctly identified and the procedure is understood by all team members.


Check, update, download and digest all the latest guidelines.


Above all else, have fun out there.

The Rebirth of Saraqael

A bit late posting it here, but I did post it on the other thread on time.

The challenge is now closed.