Written by Geddon Gear
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Wednesday, 11 February 2009

When the Fires Stopped" the first post apocalyptic serial drama

When the fires stopped, the screaming began. At first I was disoriented, my head hurt, but it was still there thanks to the Asteroid Armor. I purchased it from leper wandering the streets pre impact. "Pre-impact" - now I knew nothing would be the same. Back to the screaming. It was loud, but thankfully distant. I fired up my cell phone only to see a "No Service" where the signal meter icon should be. Across the gorgeous but now pointless touch screen, a public service message:

"Sorry for the inconvenience, all Satellite and Radio Communications have been repurposed for the global defense shield. Thank you for your cooperation. Yes We Can."

According to the "pre-impact" public service programming, the shields were never meant to block the asteroid. No, they were meant for something far worse. The thought brought images of fear and Mayan food to my head. Food, I needed some. I opened my Newton's Capsule and greedily ate the airline peanuts I had stashed from my earlier flight from Gibraltar. The old man said it would come in handy. He also said to find the nearest Post-Apocalyptic grocery store and get some survival gear. I took stock of where I was, scrapped but not broken, lying on the sidewalk in the middle of Times Square. I had to find a store to stock up and head out of the city. Had to make it to The Refuge, had to take the advice of the General and stay clear of the cities. "They are the stalking grounds of the Kawil" he said before the Ichel creature took him. I should have never taken the job in that agency, the subject matter did not fit the skillset of reformed assassin.

Dusting myself off, I got up and headed for what seemed to be the direction of 42nd street. An advertisement for some kind of apocalyptic store vaguely showed itself on a billboard obscured by a large stamp that read "[Citation Needed]". Bureaucrats! The only known post apocalyptic store and they want to hide it from the citizens. Still, I headed in that direction and found a flyer carelessly stapled to the head of an unfortunate hotdog vendor. It read, "Geddon Gear: Now open to serve you". Some sort of super store, exactly what I needed. I walked in the direction of where the vendor's fingers seemed to point before rigamortis had set in. Thankfully it seemed to point away from the screaming. I proceeded on towards that heading, thinking very carefully about the weeks that had passed since I joined the agency. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out my personal archive journal I carried with me and began to write.

"My name is Gordon. I don't have a last name, not anymore, not since the agency. I don't know if the agency exists, and if it doesn't then someone needs to know. The asteroid is only the be…."

Not realizing that I should not walk and write at the same time, I stumbled upon a putrefying corpse dangling from a noose. It was an Ixtab, an ancient being that delivered all priests, slain warriors, sacrificial victims, and women dying in childbirth, as well as suicides who hung themselves in the socially approved manner. But this one was dead. Then I noticed the screaming had been replaced by howling and I began to run…

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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