The End

The street was dark without street lamps, but shapes were discernible because of the crescent moon. A figure scurried along the crumbling buildings, pressed against wall. It was hunched and smelled like rich liquor and expensive cologne, out of place among the reeking piles of wastes and broken buildings. The thing turned down an alley and came out in a different world.

It was a utopia. Skyscrapers disappeared above the blinding light on the streets with rings every hundred feet. Most were made of glass, a few made of metal that a tank couldn’t break through. The sidewalks weren’t cement; they were metal as well without cracks or breaks. Odd things crowded the streets and sidewalks; yellow monsters with small tentacles coming out of their foreheads, blue creatures with ridges going down the forehead to the edge of the nose, pink things with yellow lips and green jewels in their foreheads.

The figure was still indistinct because it had a faded brown coat, but he was half a foot shorter than everyone else and clearly out of place. The other aliens had posh clothes and smelled of perfumes and cigarette smoke. It walked through the tight crowd and got to another alley. The other street was again dark, but the buildings were whole and the streets were waste-free. It walked across the street and went straight into one building.

The inside was once splendid, like a palace; spiral staircase, glass walls, mahogany tables the length of the room with chairs to match, silk tablecloths, delicate china, glass figurines. The figure removed it’s cloak to reveal a baby blue alien that resembled a human except in color. He took out a bottle of alcohol and took a swig from the bottle, collapsing on a chair.



“Come out! I know you’re there!” he yelled. A human woman walked out into the light from an oil lamp with two human girls.

“What news do you have, Lieutenant Bacnir?” the woman asked, holding her children back. She smelled of sweat brought on by caring for the sick and being sick herself. She looked ill as well; her blond hair was limp in the messy ponytail, not vibrant but dull, her skin was grey and shallow, her clothes hung off her skinny frame. Her children were healthy, their blond hair dull and their skin a healthy pink, glowing blue eyes full of life. They had not yet caught the illness.

“Your daughters look much like you, Miranda. What are their names again?” Bacnir asked, speech slurred due to intoxication.

“Jennifer and Victoria,” Miranda answered stiffly. “Jen, honey, go get Bacnir a mug of coffee.”

“Yes, mother,” Jennifer said in her tinkling baby voice, disappearing and reappearing quickly. She had an earthenware mug in her hands that smelled rich and steamed. She placed it on the table at Bacnir’s elbow as her mother sat down across from him.

“Mother, father is losing his sight,” Victoria said, her voice more mature. She was one year older than her five year old sister, but many mistook them for twins. “He hasn’t long left.”

“Smart girl you got there. Does she know that she’s next?” Bacnir stared straight at the now panicked girl.

“Don’t you dare! I’ll die before any of my children catch the sickness!” Miranda’s eyes held a flicker of life-a flicker of anger.

“Yes, you will. Then they’ll die,” Bacnir agreed. He poured the contents of his bottle into the coffee and took and experimental sip.

“Then you have nothing? Will the Council not help us?” Miranda deflated, realizing the implications of his words and actions.

“Told you it was a long shot, that those bloody idiots won’t give you the time of day now. ‘War is coming,’ and, ‘they’ll get along.’ They don’t give a thought to you unless someone’s shouting at ‘em, and then only to dismiss you until next year..”

“But you told me! There are others like you, others that see! You know we’re going extinct! This time next year it will be too late will be too late!” Miranda was alive again, afraid.

“They won’t listen, Miranda. The Council believes you humans to be able to grow immunity to this illness. There are those of us who know this’ll be the end of you, who want to pool our resources to save you, but there’s not enough. It’s over, Miranda!” Bacnir shouted, downing the colorful concoction he mixed up.

“It can’t be!” Miranda ran around the table to drop to her knees beside him and clasp her hands together. “You have to help us! Help my children! They haven’t caught the sickness, you can save them!”

“To what end?!” Bacnir roared back, jumping to his feet. “They have been around it far too long, it’s in their genes! They will die like the rest! It’s over!”

“I won’t stop trying,” Miranda argued stubbornly.

“You’ll have to get a different lieutenant, then. I’ve been ‘temporarily relieved of duty’,” Bacnir mimicked spitefully.

“What do you mean?”

“The Council is tired of my movements to help you, so they’re forcing vacation on me and crippling me of my status and ability to help you.”

“There’s no one else,” Miranda moaned remorsefully.

“Like I said, it’s over.”