ArtemisMouse

I used to have a title for this story, of which there are three chapters done, but I later decided that the title sucked. Here's the first chapter.

(note, it's science fiction)

(note #2: the original title was Generation: Lost)


There are only two real reasons for death. One is lack of oxygen to the brain. The other is lack of blood to the heart. Every cause of death can be broken down to one or the other.

It has occured to me to wonder just how many people died of injuries from debris and how many died from lack of oxygen when the Earth was destroyed.

Yes, that's right. I'm not going to tell you a story about how the earth was threatened and then saved. I'm going to tell you a story about how the earth was destroyed, and what came after.

It is a story of betrayal and intrigue. There is romance, and death. Some facts of this story make me cry to this day. Others make me laugh. If this story has a moral it is of the strength of the human spirit.

No one knows everything that happened that day, not even the Brean'lah. It would be impossible to know everything that happened on the day that every living being on the planet earth simply ceased to exist.

Despite this fact, I will do my best to present a reasonable idea of what went on. I do not present myself as the best source of this information, merely one willing to try.

It's an amazing thing to wake up and realized that there will never be a new hollywood movie that you just have to see. Never again will you be able to complain about that neighbor kid down the street. You wish with all of your soul to hear another politician spouting nonsense. It will never happen again, at least not the way you remember it.

Sometimes I look back at how far we've come and can't comprehend it. There are so many times that we should have just rolled over and died. I would love to be able to say that we were strong enough to avoid that, but it would be a lie.

There is one reason and one reason only that we made it this far. That reason is simple, we had no choice. Not a single one. We could either survive, or let our race die out. That's quite a load to put on a sixteen year olds shoulders, but apparently Zal'ank'inar saw something in me. Who knows, perhaps he was right.

If he was correct, then I hope he knows it. Not knowing where he is, I can't tell him. That's another thing that we all wish. We want to find Zal'ank'inar again. He was a friend.

Without him, everyone looks to me for answers. I do my best, but even with Zal's tutoring, I'm afraid.

Zal told me that being afraid doesn't mean that you don't have courage. In fact, being afraid and doing what you know is right anyway is the sign of the greatest courage.

If that's true, then I'm the bravest man alive.

It isn't too hard to think about death. I mean, we think about death all the time. It doesn't have to effect us.

I remember finding out once that a friends nephew had died. He was only two years old. It was a tragedy, but not much more than one that could have happened in the newspaper. You can deny it all you want, but until it actually happens in away that directly effects you, death does not seem real.

We all know that death is real now. We've had to deal with it every day since The Day. That's what we call it, not Ragnarok, not Apocolypse, just The Day.

I think it makes us feel a little better, gives us a little strength by not naming it. The Day was a tragedy beyond any that I have ever heard of, even counting the paths we have traveled since.

However, before we could begin to fool ourselves by pretending we were stronger than an event, it had to happen. I don't know when this log will be read, but I have to assume that whoever is reading it may not know the entire story. That's why I'm telling it all. If you already know, consider it a refresher course from someone who was a key player.

Key player, I used to believe I was important when I played basketball. I called myself a key player then. I was an ignorant child.

I was too absorbed in the pain from having to sit out the last game to see what was going on. I didn't care what wars were happening in what countries, I wasn't playing basketball.

Looking back now, I wish I could take back everything I said that night. The coach had decided to make me sit out for the second half. He said it was to give other guys a chance. I was furious. I thought that he was trying to ruin my chances at breaking the state scoring record.

Coach Wilkins didn't have anything against me, I realize that now. He was just trying to do the best job that he could.

There's nothing like being responsible for the entire human race to make you wish for simpler times. If I had the day to do over again, I've run over the scenario so many times that I could spend hours talking to Coach Wilkins alone. I want with every fiber in my being to tell him how much I appreciate what he did for us.

I'll never have that chance, but I want the person who reads this to understand something. What you have can be ripped away in a second. It could be anything, but it will always haunt you.

Don't hurt the people who help you. Please don't let material goods get in the way of a relationship. The average person that you will never talk to or see is worth more than all the money in the world.

It sounds like an old Earth commercial, but human beings really are priceless. Remember that, the next time you start to get angry over something petty.

Despite everything I've said, I can only pray that you are stronger and smarter than I was. If someone had told me all this that night, I would have made all the normal sounds, nodded and acted like I understood.

Unless it was Coach Wilkins telling me, then I might have spit in his eye. Not playing the second half was the end of the world for me, and I made sure everyone knew it.

I argued loud and long with him, but in the end I realized that he wouldn't budge. Ken was going in to my position and there was nothing I could say or do to stop it.

Once I realized that I turned around and flung my warm-up jacket straight back at the bleachers. Ignoring Coach Wilkins telling me to stop, I stomped out of the gym like a two-year old.

I would never see the school or any of those people again.

That's right, I wasn't some great war hero entrusted with the future of the species due to the sacrifices I'd made and judgment I'd shown.

Quite frankly I'm surprised I didn't die with the rest of the people on earth. I would trade my life for almost anyone elses.

After I stormed out of the gym, I found that it was raining. Naturally I blamed this on the coach too. He was just out to get me in every way.

I could have asked for a ride, or even mellowed out and gone back inside to support my team, but I was too upset for that. Being the genius that I was, I struck out for home, hands deep in my pockets and head down.

Every step of the way I blamed everything I was feeling on Coach Wilkins. I believed that the puddle in my way was his way of showing me just how much control he had over my life.

As much blame as can be put on me, I'm sure you must be wondering what happened to make me act this way. I mean, no one should act that upset over a game, right.

Try telling that to my father. A great war hero he wasn't either. In fact, I believe that at the time that people his age were risking their lives to fight in vietnam, he was drinking vodka in canada.

My father started out life as Robert Johnson Kelly. When he fled to Canada to escape the draft, he changed his name to Robert Riley. That's the name he stuck with for the rest of his days.

After the war was over, he felt safe coming home. I still have no idea what he thought he was coming home to. His parents had died during the war and he was an only child.

Regardless, he got a job as a cabbie in New York City and eventually met the most brilliant doctor in the state. She was of course my mother.

It hurt my father that he was just a cabbie while my mother was an up and coming surgeon. She made more than three times what he did per year and he resented that fact.

You see, dear old dad couldn't understand one simple fact. Elizabeth Stratton loved him for who he could be. She often said that he sold himself short.

I would tend to agree with her. Though my dad was just a cabbie, he could speak English, Japanese, German, and was pretty good at Russian. He knew most of what the geeks on the History Channel spouted off, and rarely missed a question on Jeopardy.

He had a major problem however, and that was a lack of confidence. Every thing he did seemed to backfire on him, and it was usually because of something he did. The man could sabatage himself like nobody I've ever heard of.

Of course, there was his other problem. He was a drinker. Didn't used to be, but he became one after what he called mistake number three hundred and twenty-two.

He seemed to think that he could make up for his mistakes by pushing me relentlessly. He wanted me to get a basketball scholarship so badly. Sometimes I wondered if he thought that he would be able to play through me, that my making it to college ball would set him free somehow.

In any case, I dreaded to think of what his reaction would be to my not being in the game for the second half. He had spent all the previous night talking about how we'd go out for dinner after the game and celebrate my new record. He was so excited.

And now I had to tell him that I was still eight points short.

Eight points may not seem like much to you, but the man whom I had to convince of that had once lost a one million dollar lottery ticket in a poker game. He'd bet the ticket and lost it, not finding out until the next day that it had been a winner. Because of that, he knew how close one could come and then lose it. He also never tired of telling me about it.

It wasn't too hard to get into my house undetected. I just really didn't feel like dealing with my father at the moment.

As I hoisted myself up the wall to my window, I paused to reflect on the possible humor of sneaking into the house rather than out of it.

Whatever, I'd rather deal with a dozen bruises than hear the man in the living room go into his lecture one more time.

Robert Kelly never hit anyone in his life. I don't think he had the spine for it. They say that your father is supposed to be your role-model, but I don't know who they thought they were kidding. If I took this man as a role- model I would sit on the couch all night complaining about life in general.

That's the other thing, it was never his fault. Someone was always out to get him. My dad couldn't afford to be an atheist, he needed a god to blame. By the time I was five years old I had a pathological fear of Big Brother, whoever that was.

It may sound as though I am trying to put the blame somewhere else. I hope that is not true. What I am attempting is to give you some insight into my life so that you can understand me a little better.

So, I dragged myself through my bedroom window and into the darkness of my bedroom. Having done this often enough, I avoided the spot on the floor that creaked. Any sound would have the old man up here in a flash to beat the burgler into submission. The sight of my father in boxer shorts and a day-old beard holding a bat like it was his chance to defend the President of the United States from terrorists was not my idea of a good time.

Slipping out of my uniform, I paused in front of the mirror hanging from my closet door. Regarding the image before me, I attempted to see myself as others might. Sixteen years old, and a bit over six feet tall already. I kept my black hair cut close to my head and my green eyes shown in the darkness.

People have often said that I was built to be an athlete. True as that might be, it required work. Work that my dad wouldn't let me get out of no matter what the occasion was. Even if we were on vacation I was expected to keep up at least half of my work-out schedule.

Glancing at the wall where my trophies are stored, I reached out and touched the newest one. In shining letters are the words: Thurston High School Basketball M.V.P. Jonathan Riley

Then I looked down and frowned. I opened the drawer of my dresser and pulled out the award that wasn't allowed to hang with the others. This one was second place on the debate team.

Yes, second place. That's state-wide. Why wasn't it allowed to hang? Because it wasn't first place. I shook my head and lay down on my bed. I didn't even bother to pull the covers over my worn-out body. Having little energy, I just lay there and cursed the coach, the team, and life in general.

Before too long, I must have fallen asleep. I say must have because I don't remember a light appearing outside my window and a strange figure drift in, mistlike through the cracks. I also don't remember that figure solidifying and standing over me. It must have however, because when I woke up, there he was.

He wasn't that alien in appearance. I mean, it's not like he had horns or a tail. Even his skin color wasn't off. He looked like a middle-aged black man actually. He smiled down at me and looked so completely non-threatening that I blinked sleepily at him a few times before it registered where I was. As soon as that hit me however, I jumped halfway out of my bed. Now, I don't mean that I started to get up. I mean that I jumped halfway out of bed and then just hung there in the air. That's about when I figured that this guy wasn't normal. That or that I was dreaming, and at the moment I was going to bet on dreaming.

So I hung there, suspended in mid-air. While processing this strange turn of events, I saw my visitor shake his head. Opening my mouth to speak, or maybe yell, I found that nothing would come out of my mouth.

The stranger spoke, "Right now you believe that this is but a dream. You think that any moment you will wake up and return to your normal life." His smile dropped. "I'm sorry Jon, but that isn't going to happen."

I found myself lowered back to the bed. The man sat down in my chair and held up a hand. "Please just sit Jon, I will explain everything to you. Right now you think that I am here to steal from you or perhaps even hurt you." He lowered his head and I heard him chuckle quietly. The thing was, it was not a funny chuckle. It was a sad chuckle.

"No Jon, I'm here for a reason much worse. I'm here to ruin your life." He held up a finger. "But only your current life. I'm also here to give you a new one. I believe you will understand later, but not now."

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Falstaff

Ray, where have you been buddy...we thought you moved on....good to see your work, hope you find a home...keep coming back and we will find a way for you to post online...and more poetry dammit!!!!

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