Armageddon

Chapter 1

10:46AM

27 January 2029

Washington D.C., United States

So many eyes tracking her every step on stage, yet the air in the room holds still.

Glancing at the sea of heads, she finds herself stifling her breaths as she steadies herself between the lectern, swallowing to clear the bolus of discomfort in her throat.

A click and a flash make her wince, no help to her trembling fingers and quivering lips. The paper in her hand scrunched and stretched thin from furious deliberation – she has no idea how to deliver the words scribbled in pen.

“Mrs President, what is the situation with the East?” a stern voice breaks the silence.

“Mrs President, is it true they have launched nuclear weapons our way?” two men rise from the sea, one with a microphone and another with a videocam sitting on his shoulder.

“Mrs President, how much time do we –”

“The end is near.” Her eyes close as the splutter of frenzied questions dissolve into an audible silence. Her hands still spread the paper thin; her next words imbue the room with fear. “The East has launched a full-scale nuclear war. Go home to your loved ones.”

“But, Mrs President, what does that mean –”

“Mrs President, which areas are they attacking?”

“Mrs President, how did this happen –”

“Ladies and gentleman, there is no time to explain. We will release an official statement soon,” Her voice breaks, as a tear chromatographs the words inked beneath her, “Go home, please.”

Chapter 2

10:55AM

27 January 2029

Solara, San Diego, California

The butterfly flitters majestically over the dandelions, each flutter pushing one dandelion seed after another into the gentle wind. The luscious leaves scintillate with a tinge of gold from the radiant morning sun, still moist from the morning mist. Cherry blossoms, lilies, freesias and chrysanthemum flowers adorn the luxuriant landscape; spring, summer, autumn and winter coexist in perfect harmony.

There is no trace of imperfection on this land, where the most paradoxical creatures thrive in the same cross section of time and space.

As she lifts her fingers to explore this impossibility, a charm of hummingbirds soars through the wispy blue sky, as if to serve a warm welcome to this grand paradise. A nightingale lands on her shoulder and hums a sweet melody, before it takes off, teasing her to follow suit.

Without giving it a second thought, she chases it. She’s running as fast as she ever has, defying all laws of gravity, keeping up with the nightingale’s trail. It chirps brightly while somersaulting through the air so freely, so gracefully. Its brothers and sisters join in the chorus, orchestrating the most enchanting polyphony.

She is absolutely enraptured by the beauty around her, as she pays no mind to the clouds of grey on her tail.

Delilah…

A gust of wind breezes past, calling her name, vying for her attention.

She blazes ahead, her eyes still in awe of her new companions.

Delilah…

They try again, toppling the row of cedar trees behind her, but her mind remains fixated on her friends. She is lured further into this magical haven, where the grass shoots tickle one another for love in the air, where the freesias and chrysanthemum flowers greet the gum trees with a smile.

Delilah… Delilah…

A flash of lightning strikes. The gum trees burst into a furore of flames; hues of tranquillity disintegrate into blackened ash.

Hands descend from the sky, wrapping their fingers around the necks of her hummingbird friends – no! – before their heads combust from the pressure.

Their blood rains on her as she pleads for them to take her instead.

It’ll be your turn soon, Delilah…

An expanse of burial stones erects spontaneously. As the sky continues to weep blood, her sister resurrects in multitudes across the plains. The faces of her sister smile in unison.

She’s crying, screaming – why are you doing this to me? – but the harassment continues.

Mountains turn to volcanoes, and lava runs freely through her paradise.

Soot and flames veil her eyes.

And in the darkness, she swears to burn them alive.

***

She feels a pressure above her, pressing against her breasts, sliding her back up and down the firm mattress. As she slowly comes to consciousness, the silhouette of a balding male contrasts the blurry lights and the grey-scale ceiling – a sudden, burning sensation to her left labia snaps her out of her hazy trance.

“What the fuck –”

“Shut the fuck up, Delilah,” he growls – she screams in horror – before her voice vanishes beneath the hush of his hand.

The burn intensifies, as his cock persists against the friction.

Mum, please, just this once. Her prayers go unanswered, as his weight sinks her further into the bed – I can’t breathe – her breasts bouncing violently with each shuddering breath of his, the creaking of the unsteady bed smothered by the beeping monitors, blaring sirens, the storm of footsteps and steady murmurs.

Chapter 3

10:55AM

27 January 2029

Melbourne, Australia

He closes his eyes. Standing in front of him was his wife in a pink chiffon dress, looking at him fondly with her big doe eyes and the most beautiful smile.

“Come on, slow poke.” She motioned him over. “Your surprise is waiting for you.” His heart swelled with warmth as he loved her unique way of calling him over, always with the back of her hand towards the sky, fingers contracting twice in quick succession.

As she took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his, he caught glimpses of flower wreaths just behind the fence that usually marked the beginning of their yearly marathon runs.

They walked along the fence towards the flower wreaths. He saw that they were held by a giant metal arch decorated with balloons of his favourite colour. As they inched closer, he squinted to read the words chalked across the blackboard under the extravagant garland.

“Well, I guess it’s pretty obvious we’re not here to run, but I thought it would be pretty cute if I” – she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as she looked shyly towards the ground – “asked you to marry me here.”

“But –” He tried to chime in.

She clasped his mouth. “I know this is strange and everyone told me that this was a horrible idea because everyone usually waits for the guy to propose, but I kept thinking about it and I really love you – I mean we’ve been dating for a year now and I didn’t want to wait any longer and it’s weird to ask you to propose to me, but I don’t know –”

He gently grabbed hold of the hand vigorously covering his mouth. He lightly kissed the back of her hand, then her right palm, then her left palm. Before she could squeeze in another word, he gave her a few pecks on her soft lips and leaned in, embracing her for a more passionate kiss.

“I was just going to say,” he tenderly pulled away from the kiss and whispered into her ear, “that you beat me to it by a day.”

He reached for his phone in the back-right pocket of his running shorts and clicked onto the first photo in his photo gallery. Bold, golden block letters contrasted pink-hued skies underneath a similar pastel floral curtain arch, spelling, ‘Will you marry me?’

“I’ve been setting everything up on a very special beach, which is also why I’ve been coming home late the last few nights. I was going to dress a little better too.” He chuckled while tugging on his bright orange running shorts.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she threw her arms around him, explaining how worried she was that he was going to reject her and leave her alone in the park for the magpies to feast on. As he indulged in her silly worries, he caressed her cheek, taking note of every freckle, every mole, every feature on her face.

He opens his eyes. She was meant to be his forever.

He traces the outline of his wife on his phone background with his index finger as a notification chimes through, “PI: Here are the photos as requested.” He clicks on the notification. The size 12 shoes that most certainly do not belong on his size 10 feet, the extra toothbrush that sporadically appears in his bathroom, the smeared makeup she was returning home more frequently with – everything finally makes sense. As he scrolls through the photos, he feels his mind buzz, not from shock or disbelief, but from his mind coming to a standstill after months of confusion and uncertainty.

His staff member knocks lightly on the glass door of his office with a phone held firmly between his fingers.

“Sir, I think you should see this –”

“Piss off, Lewis,” he snatches his coat off the chair, before swiping his bag from underneath the desk.

Chapter 4

10:30AM

27 January 2029

Azzah, Israel

He walks out of the shelter he crafted for himself years ago, purposeless, senseless.

Tzak. A shard of glass scratches his face.

He stretches his arms towards the sky. Tzak. Thud.

Another scratch on his arm, as a milk crate crashes into the wall behind him.

Ziiiioooooooom. Bang. Missiles fire and crash.

Coloured banners that used to hang with pride, dangling, flailing in the wind.

He turns left, curious to see what else he would find.

There is something mosaic about the fractured window panes of each store, with the perfect ratio of darkness to glistening, jagged pieces of glass that hang precariously.

Glass remnants sweep past him furiously along the sandy ground.

Tzak. Yet another scratch to his leg.

Ziiiioooooooom. Bang.

He spots his family store. Half a blue door attached to the storefront by a singular corroded hinge.

He peers inside. Debris of dilapidated furniture, fragmented sharps and wood pieces mount atop a sea of dust. His eye almost skims past his favourite corner of the store. A corner where he once indulged in games of Tawla with his brother, a corner where belonging, excitement, voracious appetites for success prevailed all at once, a corner where he argued with his sister-in-law about how football was more important for their children than tedious algebra, now, a corner where a skeletal figure lay slumped.

Ziiiioooooooom. Bang.

Ahmad is hardly bemused by the sight in front of him.

Ziiiioooooooom. Bang. Tss.

He closes his eye.

He hears the distant cries and pleas for help overlaid with the gusts of wind scraping sand against his ears.

Rahimahallah.

Ziiiioooooooom. Bang. Tss.

He furrows his eyebrows, uncertain of the last note he hears. No, not the volley over the horizon. That tone – dull, alien, foreign.

Tss. Crackle. Bang.

He is now hurrying along the desolate street of Omar Mukhtar, determined to find the source of the static noise.

He pays no mind to the rubbles of the Welayat or the disturbing cacophony of sirens, shotguns and explosions.

He skips along the remains of the Qissariya Market, hopping over blood-slick rubble and protruding limbs.

Tzak. Tzak. Tzak.

He pays no attention to the lines of crimson red embellishing every exposed area on his body and certainly none to the brewing sandstorm.

Tss. Tss. Crackle. Bang.

He’s closer, he knows it.

Tss. Tss. Ziiiioooooooom. Bang.

“We are going live –” Ahmad catches the buzz of a man’s voice.

He steadies himself and closes his eyes again, careful to catch every word.

They’re reporting live from Washington D.C. – that’s as much as he makes out before it cuts to a static drone.

He crouches down swiftly before frantically searching for his window to the world beyond.

He ploughs the earth, the coarse sand he’s digging through cutting his roughened skin.

He digs even faster now, certain that he’s closer to what he’s searching for.

And the moment he has the radio in hand, he pounds his fist against it repeatedly, praying to the heavens it would sound something coherent.

Tss. Tss. Ziiiioooooooom. Bang.

Nothing.

He pounds his fist against it repeatedly, this time, rapping on the decrepit item a little quicker –

“– end is near,” A woman’s voice comes to life, “The East have launched a full-scale nuclear war. Go home to your loved ones.”

He breaks out into a smile.

Tzak. Ziiiioooooooom. Bang.

A piece of news for the first time in six years.

Chapter 5

10:55AM

27 January 2029

Manila, Philippines

“On today’s news…” He sprints for the remote control.

“The bodies of two young girls have been found in –,” He frantically smashes the red button in the top-right hand corner.

The TV turns black.

Not today.

He lets out a sigh of relief, before leaping back into the kitchen.

They look fabulous! He squeals, as he slides the steaming, golden pancakes onto the corroding plate with an old, greasy spatula.

Perfection.

As he pours a scrumptious load of maple syrup onto his fresh work of art, he jolts in delight. The recipe he stole off ‘Subtle Asian Baking’ worked!

He snatches his iPhone 5 from the countertop, ready to capture his success with his 144-pixel camera.

The notification bar drops.

“NEWS FLASH: THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES HAS ANNOUNCED THAT OVER 2000 NUCLEAR MISSILES HAVE BEEN LAUNCHED ACROSS THE WORLD BY THE EAST, TARGETING THE U.S. AND ITS ALLIES.”

He clicks his phone shut.

Not today.

He closes his eyes. Deep breath. Count.

3.

2.

1.

Another deep breath –

Red. Blotches of crimson red across the screen.

Tissue and cartilage splattered across the pavement. Remnants of a dog.

His feet tremble, his hands quiver.

Count.

3.

2.

1.

Red. Streams of blood roll down the screen slowly, before the video pans to a man who licks the camera with his tongue and grins.

“He’s dead. HE’S DEAD, MY BROTHERS.” The man rejoices with his people: men dressed in black pleated robes and balaclavas.

He reaches for the kitchen drawer –

Red. Decline.

The supervisor hollers across the office, “STAY. There are more videos for you to go through.”

Red. A fountain pen slashes his face, leaving a crack in the glass door behind him. Red continues to trickle down his cheek.

The supervisor’s angry. “How dare you?”

His face muscles clench and his teeth grind.

Her voice rings through his mind. “What the fuck are you actually good at? ‘Approve’ and ‘Decline’ are literally two different colours, you twat.”

With every last bit of adrenaline, he fights for his limbs to do something. Anything.

“That video is going to ruin the lives of thousands before we can do anything about it. How dare you make such a fuck up, you good-for-nothing son of a bitch?”

He finally flings open the kitchen drawer and grapples for the orange container of Valium tablets.

1 tablet. Swallow. Water. Drink.

Count.

3.

2.

1.

Red.

“No, fight it,” the therapist reassures him.

Deep breaths. Count.

3.

2.

1.

You got this.

3.

2.

1.

His eyes are wide open.

Clock in the far-right corner, calendar above the dining table, the pancakes, now cold, still on the kitchen top.

He’s still in his house. Not the office. Not the office. Not today.

As he finishes the last munch of his now-crusty pancakes, another notification appears.

“Message: Come into work today. Staff needed. TRIPLE PAY.”

He glances at his almost-dysfunctional phone, the silverware that isn’t really silver anymore, and the bits of wallpaper scraping off the walls.

Shit. It is today.

He grabs his workbag from the bedroom and smuggles the Valium tablets into a secret compartment.

As he reaches for the door, he remembers.

Deep breaths. Count.

3.

2.

1.

Chapter 6

11:05AM

27 January 2029

Melbourne, Australia

She twirls his chest hair, gently lengthening it, running it along her thumb, before letting go and starting all over.

How did I end up here? She lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to wake her man.

She swings her legs off the bed and ties her hair into a ponytail.

Eggs, bacon, pancake, honey milk… Alright, let’s rumble.

There are a myriad of checklists in her head, but cognition alone suffices not. Checklists are also detailed on her phone and laptop, both of which she ensures are synchronised multiple times a day.

• Contact Martin for a Zoom re: pharmacy internship via email
• Attach resume to the same
• Attach cover letter to the same – ensure it’s the most recently updated version
• Contact Barbara re: coffee chat for discussion on girls in STEM and avenue for high school girls to get involved in biomedical sciences research
• Liaise with biomedical sciences president re: progress on PROJ 004

To describe her checklists as ‘well-informed’ would be an understatement, a disservice to Ella’s meticulous planning.

27/1

• Eggs
• Bacon
• Pancake
• Honey
• Milk
• Pack Chase breakfast for today and tomorrow
• Kiss him good night
• Kiss him good morning
• Tell him he needs to visit the post office
• Tell him he is due for a family visit in 7 days
• Get his toothbrush, shoes and clothes out before Shaun sees

She cracks an egg onto the stainless-steel pan and smiles. She recalls the days when Shaun used to shower her with compliments.

“Aren’t you a precious thing?” He would wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

“Shaun, you know how I feel about you messing up my cooking…”

“What… I can’t express my love for my gorgeous, gorgeous wife?”

“Oh, shut up… you silly goose–”

“Hey.” Her man stands tall, leaning against the wall with only a towel around his hips.

“Hi.” Her attention quickly zips back to the sizzling egg that was browning around the edges. “When are you next seeing your parents, by the way?”

“That’s random,” Chase comes up to her and presses his cheek against her ear, “rushing to get me out already?”

She gently nudges him away. “Stop it, you know I love having you here.”

She flips the eggs onto a plate and starts on the bacon, as she tries to hide her blushing cheeks.

Eggs done, bacon doing, pancakes next, honey for later, milk to be poured. Her thoughts march in sequence once again. Eggs done, bacon doing, pancakes next, honey for later, milk to be poured.

Every detail lines up.

Chase's toothbrush, the next family visit, her research, her internship plans.

She smiles at the pan, as she carefully slides the bacon two centimetres to the left of the eggs.

Everything has to be in check.

Everything.