It is now 4:08 a.m. and I am preparing my digital camera equipment for the day’s events.
… and the young man gazed around him and was awed by the brilliant burgundy dusk. It was an unnatural visual phenomenon and it meant war had been unleashed from the depths of the seas. Just two minutes. Then the flash. No longer of sight, the youngster stumbled forward, destined to be one of few survivors of that which became the eighth such world war, a senseless demonstration of the shortcomings of irrational decision-makers. His thoughts were of the recent General Session of the World Congress. If only a consensus were achieved. The result, instead, was the hasty exiting of Australia’s voting representative, cursing the submarine for its very existence.
Funny how from shock one reacts. That his sight was gone was secondary to the discomfort from the fluids dripping down his cheeks. It was hard to separate the liquid from the flesh. Life was rotting. “Nucleosis” was what the punkers called it – when the “melt” begins. Life stinks. He stumbled on. Submarines. Thoughts of submarines. Invented in Pleasantville, New Jersey, by Simon Lake. A wooden chamber. And now, “Trident-powered” metal monsters that will blow away your entire history in an instant, only eight miles from the Atlantic City shoreline.
His shoulder yielded under the pressure of the quick tapping. “Wake up! Wake up, Tommy. It’s getting on 8:15. You’ll be late for work.” Shaking himself clear from his inner eyelid morning dream-sleep thought patterns, Thomas C. Bradder was about to start another day…
Copyright 2009 Jeffrey W. Pergament, Author
All rights reserved.