The wind lashed the landscape as if every droplet of rain was determined to chip away any evidence of humanity. On a night like this most creatures find a place deep in shelter and hope for the morning. When dawn finally breaks every building will be pitted and scarred, the surfaces corroded independent of the acidic content of the water. The coastline is dominated by a large headland, evidently a granite masterpiece in a housing of limestone. The building occupying the centre of this rock is known only as The Castle.
Home by the sea
Home by the sea
Home by the sea
Home by the sea
After the last big storm five years ago The Castle is now only accessible across a narrow walkway. It was rumoured that once in the dead of night, several months ago, dozens of hooded individuals were dragged into The Castle. Sheet lightning crackles across the sky, on the rock face a figure is briefly illuminated, dangling by a thin rope they haul themselves over the last treacherous overhang. Shaking off the wetsuit and moving more freely, it advances towards The Castle walls. The Castle is not truly a castle but a large mansion. Approaching the patio windows, the intruder lays out a number of items on the floor. A reflection indicating a small piece of metal can be seen as the lock is quickly picked. Moving swiftly from shadow to shadow the building is explored. Each seemingly identical door has its own number in addition to a viewing port from the outside, looking in. Taking a second to glance inside a few of the rooms they are all empty. The thoughts floating on the top of the mind can almost be seen floating in the air, ‘It’s too easy, no alarms, no dogs, was it even worth risking my neck to get here?’.
Creeping up the blind side, shinning up the wall
Stealing thru the dark of night
Climbing thru a window, stepping to the floor
Checking to the left and the right
Picking up the pieces, putting them away
Something doesn’t feel quite right
Deep inside the building a haunting song echoes round to the trespasser. A low sonorous melody carrying with it a force of anguish coupled with the stench of fear. The sounds shift in and out of synchronisation so that only snatches of words can be heard. Every twisted syllable tightening the knot in the interloper’s throat, the melody rises to a crescendo. A fine baritone voice breaks through the murk, following the disjointed tune with consummate ease, ‘The Institution welcomes you’ capital letters falling like lead blocks in the thief’s mind.
Help me someone, let me out of here
Then out of the dark was suddenly heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
It would seem The Institution was better guarded that first impressions suggested. Not mentioning this seemingly small mansion house was a maze. Doors slam open all around him, from gantries above and cellars below heavy footsteps can be heard. Each opening door looming like a dread portal, the figures emerging huge hulking humanoids every one. The dark guards each like a hole in the world, a black expanse that suggests limbs but gives no clue to their forms. Moving as if imposed on the universe, the attackers could not focus themselves fully on assaulting the intruder. Climbing the stairs rapidly, the thief’s clothing slipped through many grasps. Looking back the number of pursuers cannot be defined, sometimes one, sometimes twenty. Finally on the third floor landing with nowhere left to run the interloper is brought down. His struggling form lost in the amorphous blob of guardians. Through their own thick doors the residents having a faint spring of hope see it dashed letting the song die with a howl.
Coming out the woodwork, thru the open door
Pushing from above and below
Shadows but no substance, in the shape of men
Round and down and sideways they go
Adrift without direction, eyes that hold despair
Then as one they sign and they moan
The howling end to the song left an imprint on the unconscious intruder’s mind. Trapped deep in The Castle the residents never see the sun, never see another person, only the voices that call out. In their cells even this respite from the loneliness is muffled. The residents are moved regularly, this motion is the only chance to use failing muscles. One voice in the cry left a stronger image in the mind of the thief, showing a young man with his wife and child. They were taking a picnic in the summer sun, a lush green field with bees buzzing busily in the lavender. Even this image seemed distorted, who did it belong to? Was it even real? Hollow eyes in an emaciated face ‘The Institution… The Institution… The Institution’
Help us someone, let us out of here
Living here so long undisturbed
Dreaming of the time we were free
So many years ago
Before the time when we first heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
Riots started, chains rattled, the inmates are restless, there is life outside, and we are not trapped here all alone. Each numbered door opened and three ‘men’ step in, the residents try to stand, weighed down by the shackles they are forced into a seat. Here they will stay. The spark of rebellion still burns in some, the chains rattle slowly now, a new picture is painted.
Sit down sit down
Sit down sit down sit down
As we relive our lives in what we tell you
Within the static of the droning a picture is drawn, first lines that appear and disappear as you focus, they then become firm and shading appears. The black and white images scratched onto the mind with an old quill then coloured in dark hues, a faded print of the mind. Only when deep in this memory of an old inmate are the true colours seen. A shoreline on a bright summer day the surfed whipped playfully in the wind. Chasing a lady up the beach giggling as they play with the tide, they lie side by side in the waning light. Images flash past faster now like an old movie, the contents outlined in gold as each is treasured.
Images of sorrow, pictures of delight
Things that go to make up a life
Endless days of summer longer nights of gloom
Waiting for the morning light
Scenes of unimportance, photos in a frame
Things that go to make up a life
Now the vision melts away, almost stepping through the darkness the thick heavy door imposes itself with a crunching silence on the mind. As people settle into less uncomfortable positions, positions they have occupied for decades the fixtures burnt onto their retinas through sheer monotony. The beach is now forgotten, the feel of sand had slipped through the fingers. The beat of the surf on the sand lost to the thunder inside the skull, each echoing heartbeat a reminder of the trap, the room that shrinks the mind. For the eldest residents now all they know is the door, unceasing in its presence. The only words then know now are the chant.
Help us someone, let us out of here
Cos living here so long undisturbed
Dreaming of the time we were free
So many years ago
Before the time when we first heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
The rebel’s mind still working with thoughts appearing for this he is punished. The formless guards slip through the door and hold him in place, each gripping hand like iron as he is strapped to the bed. The sounds emanating from everywhere at once, breaking his concentration, breaking his mind. Forgetting the sand, forgetting the surf, forgetting the past, look at the door, remember the door, look at the chains and remember the chains.
Sit down sit down
Sit down sit down sit down sit down
As we relive out lives in what we tell you
Let us relive out lives in what we tell you
A new door opens, one which was had remained closed not to long ago, the air is musty and damp. The bed is made with stained sheets and the shackles are bloody. Unable to resist the strength of the guards the thief is bound in place. He cries about freedom and rights and in return he is strapped down more securely. Now he is medicated, now he is ready. The baritone voice begins a new melody. Forget the cliff, forget the rain, forget the lockpicks, look at the door, remember the door, look at the chains and remember the chains.
Sit down sit down sit down
Cos you wont get away
No with us you will stay
For the rest of your days - sit down
As we relive our lives in what we tell you
Let us relive our lives in what we tell you
Welcome to the Home By The Sea.
1506 words including lyrics (which are in place for a reason).
Home By The Sea Link provided by Last.fm
This first piece has been entered into the Short Story Competition I run (follow the sig) where the theme is a song.
Most people would call the end of humanity ‘The end of the world’. I am inclined to disagree. Humans are nothing special, if they died out peacefully then it is fair to assume the world would continue, and quite possibly something new could evolve. No, I intend to discuss the real end of the world and this end of the world happened whilst I was onboard the International Space Station. This apocalypse forms my last recording, it has not only wiped out every multi-cellular organism; it has also caused this station to slowly drop into the atmosphere where it will be burnt up by the friction of the atmosphere.
It happened like this…
“Good morning and welcome to BBC Breakfast news. I’m Andrew Trainer and this is Hannah Dunhill. Breaking news today, the price of a barrel of Brent Crude oil has broken $1,000 sparking fears of a global recession as stocks run dry. In response to fears the OPEC oil-cartel has increased production for a second time this month. In other news Britain are due to take over EU presidency next month and will try to use this to push for more aid to rebuild Aberdeen after cyclone Eva battered the coastal city.”
“Indeed, and the expedition trying to recreate Robert Falcon Scott’s doomed attempt to reach the South Pole has today ran into unexpected difficulties with both the standard compass used by the re-creators and the GPS systems used by the support team malfunctioning.”
How the United States kept us in this Space Station I don’t know, probably the missiles on its underbelly pointed at most of Asia, not to mention the huge TV revenues for being the only Ultra High Definition transmitter in the Northern Hemisphere. Ten years ago the USAF installed an outer space ready chain gun, this cut through satellites ran by the competition, leaving the ISS free to dominate media coverage across the globe, and with fuel prices so high, no one can afford to launch a new independent network.
The GPS was so reliable that no one thought about leaving their house without some form of locator on them, the idea it had broken down shocked everyone. The GPS (which would drive a car for you) still ran from the atomic clocks put into space decades earlier by the US army. The new Galileo system created by the EU had caught a dose of radiation sickness and rained high explosive death over large chunks of Asia.
Traffic was blocked up. London’s grid was locked for the first time since the M25 was demolished. Overnight deliveries failed to reach their location, people died in ambulances unable to get to the hospitals. All because of the GPS system failing, but the GPS system wasn’t broken, the planet was. A few scientists voiced reasoned arguments but their undervalued contribution was lost in the melee of witch doctors and mad bishops. The media had a field day. Elvis was sighted on 27 different occasions, once complete with his blue suede shoes.
Well the next day, the planet showed that the scientists were correct, however the Earth wasn’t broken exactly. The Earth’s Magnetic field, battered by eons of cosmic rays and drained by millennia of imparting a field into iron, had shifted. This stark change affected the rotation of the planet. With the new North Pole in French Polynesia, the South Pole in Saudi Arabia, and the equator brushing South America and Northern Europe. The shift caused massive tidal waves to sweep every coast, dependant on geography some people had six hours before the tides washed in. Not that it mattered, the vast portion of the remaining oil was being quickly buried under two miles of ice, along with the inhabitants. With a dysfunctional GPS the fleeing masses drove to high ground, looting and pillaging as they went. The tidal waves ripped northwards, South America due to its Southern point fared better than most. Australia, South Asia, large portions of Africa, the entire Mediterranean much of the Southern United States lost under walls of water miles high.
The next broadcast came by radio, “This is the Acting Prime Minister Robert Spencer, in this disaster, everyone has lost someone, but Britain will weather this storm. We who stopped the Luftwaffe, we who said no to Slavery, we who every year hope for two dry weeks at Wimbledon, we can survive. Gather what you can carry and head into central England, this way the floods can hopefully be avoided. The army are on hand to aid you. Remember everyone, England expects” they had twelve hours before the next deluge from the South. In the intervening time, all countries with a coastal North were swamped. Northern Africa was horrifyingly battered by the waves carrying the dead from the Southern coasts of Spain through to Turkey.
Up in my metal capsule, alone with months of food, water and air, I will survive the longest. Some of the tribes, those used to harsh conditions may outlast me, but with the change in geography a large portion of their diet will die out. Before the third wave could crash into the shoreline the toll of billions upon billions of gallons of water shifting caused a number of volcanic eruptions. Choking fumes erupt from a dozen locations at once. Even without this hazard, every sector of life has been affected. Great plains now dry as deserts, deserts now deep under ice, ice flows perfect for a rainforest, forests dying down to grass, not a single creature escapes without some change to its life. Every sector of the globe has its own tragedy, herds drowning in mile wide lakes that were streams last week, birds flying to breeding grounds that aren’t there, fish looking to feed off algae that have died in a cold ocean.
Carrion feeders lasted longer, like most scavengers they walk hand in hand with death. It took just 18 hours for the crisp and clear image of the Earth to turn into a smoky and smoggy dot in the vastness of space. Thunderstorms combined with rains of fire and brimstone brought an end to most terrestrial life, the freshwater followed, turning to sulphuric acid. Deep in the depths something may have survived, but with the shifting tides and water ways, one can only wonder if a suitable breeding ground could be found.
The next day there was no communication, just static, from America to Asia, on every radio band, nothing but the hiss of electronics finding nothing. Using what was left of the technology on the ground and breaks in the volcanic clouds I could on some days gather what was happening down on my choking home. Large herbivores that could find food fared well, lasting weeks before the succumbing to the poisonous atmosphere, predators died sooner, due to a higher concentration in their foods. The last sign of motion I saw was a vulture coughing and choking to death, then the remaining power on the ground failed. Perhaps something found life in this toxic mess. Humanity had been killing the world for hundreds of years, ironically when the world struck back it was too late. To kill us it had to kill itself. I feel sure some bacteria have survived, but even with life clinging on with desperation the cataclysm had one last effect.
The magnetic core hadn’t resettled, the seas had poured into cracks in the crust, cooling magma in deep swathes. The thermodynamic instability finally overcame gravity. The Earth cracked like an egg, runny liquids from the centre freezing when first exposed to the atmosphere. With this great release, the planet can reform, but I in my heart have seen the true nature of destruction, and we could never manage it so effectively. After all these years and all this evolution, we are still inferior to nature, what a world it would have been if we knew this back then.
My time grows short, I will release a beacon into space in the hope the energy imparted may keep it in orbit and relay my message, my last will and testament. The momentum imparted to the beacon will hasten my decent, however this does not worry me, unlike the untold trillions of deaths I missed, from great ape to lost deer, from fearsome predator to scared rodent, I will not drown nor choke, I will evaporate into light as this craft is burned away.
Here once stood the Earth, and here lies its remains, this was our story, pray that it does not mirror yours.
This was my winning entry into the previous competition, the theme was 'The end of the world'
Any criticisms and comments on my stories are most appreciated.
Edit: I have just spotted an error in the second piece, and now it's fixed.
Edited by Dauth, 14 August 2008 - 09:46 PM.
