Epilogue

The man is dressed inappropriately in his torn and dusty Armani suit. His feet, swollen and bleeding from many lacerations tread gingerly on the razor sharp ridged rock. A naked sun mercilessly lashes his searing skin, his boiling skull, his angry face, he hates that sun. The unbearable pain makes him cringe, his hate and anger keep him going. He is collecting wood, must find more wood or anything that will burn. Night will come soon and there must be a fire.

He stops for a moment to get his bearings, squints and looks out over what’s left. That little heap to the right, two kilometers away, that’s G&S. Bastards. He doesn’t even remember if G or S made it there when the final wave washed away the fortresses. Frankly, he could care less. But keep them in mind. There’s wood over there, a whole pile.

To his left, GE at three kilometers. Smaller pile but still enough for weeks. He signed them two days ago, maybe do a trade? The fucker had called him a freeloader.

“If you’re short on wood, that’s your responsibility”

Hater… his face is now a sour grimace as his mind goes where it shouldn’t.

The band marches by playing the ‘Star - Spangled Banner’ and Linda smiles seductively at him over her glass of champagne. He’s just been sworn in as president of the goddamn US of A, it’s 2012 and he’s gonna get some tonight. Something stirs in his pants as she smiles and licks her lips and he forgets the past months of hard work, endless debate rehearsals, repeating repeating repeating his lines, drilling them, ready to fire.

“Poverty is a choice!”

“Don’t ask me to bail out losers, ask me to bail out winners!”

“If you’re short on money, that’s your responsibility!”

Back. The lines still ring in his cramped mind and he is back in this burning hell of rock, pain and…

He shudders. Must get more wood. Or anything that will burn. Night’s coming soon. There must be a fire. There’s just not enough wood anymore. Again he looks around, squinting in the sun. So hot. So fucking hot. “Still, I survived”, he thinks and cackles a dry empty laugh. Big fucking deal.

He’s just returned from a couple of key meetings with some people that, well, funded his presidency. Time to fulfill the most important campaign promises. The kind of promises that are usually not discussed in a public debate. Internet Access Act has just made it past congress, and he has just sent McKyle to make sure any still existing Occupy resistance is taken care of appropriately. Best to leave it with McKyle. The guy’s a weasel, everybody hates him but he is highly effective. Highly effective, yes that’s what Goldman said. No need to know details, just make sure nobody else knows either.

“Good to be home”, he thinks as he walks into his bedroom and finds Linda and some hippie naked.

“Lindaaaaaa!!!!!”, he screams. His hands claw at the air trying to find that hippie’s throat to strangle him. Bitch! Stupid bitch!!! What was she thinking getting involved with… with hippies?

He stumbles on in the searing heat, and in his mind he sees Linda’s beautiful defiant face. A drop of blood runs from her mouth where he hit her. She mocks him, hates him now, screams at him. “Your son has joined Occupy and you have them beaten up, tear gassed, violated! Guess what! I’m fucking Occupy too but I’m at least having some fun doing it!!!”

Well, he showed her fun, her and her lover hippie. Him and McKyle. He cackles.

Wait. There’s something. Yes, yes a piece of wood. Here in the barren desolate rocky heat he’s found a wooden chair! If he weren’t emaciated he would laugh and dance. Now there’s only the same dry cackle, a cold sound in the blistering heat.

Shit, he’s thirsty now. His claw-like hand brings out his silver flask. ‘From your friends at Goldman Sachs’ the inscription reads. He grimaces, yeah big stinking fucking deal. He drinks to them, there to the right on their little heap. No water, Four Roses. Water doesn’t exist anymore. Here’s to you fuckers!

“Mr. President, let’s look at this realistically. Even if the report is true, the effects are not described in detail, there are no clearly defined timelines, and all in all we are talking about possible scenarios that may not even come to pass. Here, on the other hand, I have some very realistic numbers on what this law will do to commerce and general stakeholder value…”

Goldman smiles and for once almost succeeds in sounding genuine.

“Now you have done a great job in enabling us to take care of any Occupy resistance…”, he continues, “…and you know that Congress will vote as we need it to vote. But we need you to be aligned in order to convince the people. You know we only let you protest at other occasions in preparation for this moment, and we have made sure the media have painted you as a nice rebel. So if you vote our way now…”

Goldman’s hand tips ash from the cigar and he smiles

May you rot in hell!!! One more sip and a hateful cackle. Time to go home.

Home… This is where home used to be. White House. He’s bringing home wood, there will be a fire tonight. So hot, so fucking hot… no longer walking, plodding. Each careful step hurts, hot razor-sharp rock cutting his feet. Sun burning, roasting, searing. Hell… well here we are. His cackle this time has no joy but death. Again he takes a quick swig from his silver flask. Rot in hell, well here we are. Fuckers.

What have we done? We had a chance, not much but a fighting chance. The opportunity was there and we blew it. We all blew it.

It’s just him, Goldman and Lakey from GE in the bunker. Goldman is crying and Lakey is drunk as always. He feels numb and tries not to think of that wave that swallowed DC whole. The terrified screams cut short suddenly, the white face of the private as he sank into the deep. Somewhere in that wet grave he knows his son and Linda have drowned. Or so he hopes. The last moments of DC were violent, his guards had to shoot many people to get him out and then of course were torn limb from limb by the crazed masses. Fortunately he was in the chopper by that time, he, Goldman and Lakey. The final hopes for a new human race. In a chopper with five whores.

He stops in the middle of a cackle. What moved there? He’s been out too long.

Nothing. It was nothing. But they are there. He knows. Oh yes, he knows. He’s seen them, he’s seen what they did…

“Fire, that’s the only thing that will keep them away”, he says. They are standing near the mutilated body of Molly. She was good fun but stupid. Stupid enough to leave the bunker after dark. They got her and effectively gutted her. Goldman is again crying. Her screams were horrible and lasted for most of the night. And they were forced to listen to it. “Poor girl, poor girl” Goldman keeps repeating. Lakey belches and laughs raucously. “C’mon, she was a whore and a damn bad one at that…”

He resumes his torturous last part of his journey back home. Things did go downhill from there. And now there’s three kingdoms. He cackles. Three corporations, ready to do a hostile takeover at any time. For wood! Haters! Dumb fucks! Jesus!

Back. Back at the pile. His pile of wood. King of the Hill. Big F-ing deal…

His shoulders sag. This was my day, a day in the life. What life?

What have I done? What have we done?

“Dad…?”

He turns around sharply tearing his feet on sharp rock, screams and drops to his knees. The skin of his knee rips open and blood gushes out, but now he is silent and watches

His son. His son is here. His son’s  blue eyes look at him, his carcass-like body, burned, scarred, bloody, dirty. His son’s nose smells him, his decay, his sweat, urine, feces…

His son can’t be here, he knows, his son is dead. Drowned in the final convulsions of the catastrophe that killed earth. But not them. They’re still here. Must make fire soon.

His son smiles but keeps his distance. He seems to know.

Oh yeah? You think you know? You know nothing my boy. No-thing.

You may know what you know. But you don’t know the simple truth. My simple truth. We fucked you up because we wanted to. We raped this planet because there would be enough time. Well, we thought there would be enough time. And we had a clear business case. It was good for business. We finally got the markets back under control, and we made trillions. Trillions I tell you! And with all that money we would restore earth, remake it as it should be. You know I had the right, I had the power, they had the power to do it! Science just had no arguments, they did not have a business case, and I had to lead the people. Hey, I was their chose pre-si-dent man! I was the man, I could do it! I only did it for the good of the country, you know. I had the mandate…

His son smiles again. “Look around you, I don’t think this is what people ordered...”

C’mon man. Don’t do this. I am your father, and you should have listened to me. You and your whore mother. You should have stayed with me, supported me…

Tears now running down his lined face. Fuck you, you hippie. His hands are again groping air looking for some neck to strangle.

His son fades. “Getting dark dude, time to get a fire going…”

The man wipes his face and moves painfully to the pile of wood. Almost there his knees give way and he drops. Pain, heat, fear. Fear…

No fire, wood just out of reach. He tries to draw himself to the pile, and cries as his fingers are sliced by sharp rock. He can hear them getting closer and frantically claws in the glass-like rock…