A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World

Chapter 7. A New Look. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

To believe that we live in a world of order is to ignore just how hard it is to be ‘good’. Indulging in your desires is the easy path, it is our instinct and grants us the most personal satisfaction. Take what you want and have fun doing it. The only fear in this world is crossing someone stronger. To be good though requires sacrifice. It requires patience, compassion, and often sees you doing things against your best interests for the benefits of others.

We see this here in our protagonists. Damian tears at his body and soul, killing or manipulating any that stand against his ideals. He commits sin in a quest for power, but a quest that is motivated by a desire to do good.

Peace though, well, he isn’t really a nice person. He lives for himself and actually enjoys the wanton violence that his powers permit him. But he isn’t grasping for power, and neither is he going out of his way to hurt others without cause. As we look down upon him we actually see him protecting a downtrodden minority against a cruel world. The fact that this is purely for personal gain will be forgotten. Actions speak louder than intentions afterall.

So we find Peace yawning expressively beside a burned out campfire. For him it was the small hours of the morning. To the more grounded Daisy, it was the dizzying heights of 10:30 AM. Not that time had much meaning anymore.

Peace chewed idly on a handful of berries from a small bag he had been collecting them in. He’d never been that knowledgeable on nature, but even he was sure that the Change had affected plants like it had people. Everything looked and tasted different. His general theory at the moment rested on the hope that if anything was poisonous then his new body could take it. So far that had proven to be the case.

Daisy stood nearby, tapping her foot agitatedly. Peace had made her power his phone well into the night, and even after he had fallen asleep, she had found little rest. Life had taught her not to be trusting. She didn’t trust Peace, she didn’t trust being out in the open, and she didn’t trust anybody else that might have been nearby. So she sat awake for most of the night, the stungun clasped firmly in her oversized hands.

“Are you going to sit here all day?” she asked.

Peace shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t have anywhere more pressing to be. Neither do you, so far as I can tell. You seem in a real rush to be going nowhere.”

“No. Here is nowhere. Anywhere else is somewhere. We’re sitting ducks out here. I need to find somewhere far away from people, somewhere safe where I can live in pea… err… live undisturbed.”

“Yeah? You want a little cottage out in the woods that’s nice and secluded. Sounds real nice. But hey, where are you going to find food? What about clothes? You any good at foraging, hunting, sewing, you know, anything useful for solo survival?”

Peace crammed the last few berries into his mouth and chewed them messily. “You see, our new powers are worthless out in the wilds. Here in the cities and towns though, we’re kings, or queens, maybe, I dunno. What good is your electric powers out there? In a city you are a god! Goddess! Whatever you damn well want to be! Don’t you get it? You’re strong now. You don’t have to run and hide anymore.”

The words had all the effect of bugs hitting the windscreen of a truck going at 80mph down a motorway. It apparently takes more than superpowers to overcome years of victimhood and self loathing. To Daisy, the world had changed, but she hadn’t. Though of course she had. Everything had.

“You can keep your delusions of grandeur. We’re in the bloody apocalypse, not some fantasy story.”

Peace stood up and threw his phone over to the woman. She clumsily caught it and the screen instantly lit up. Peace stood in front of her, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the phone to start up. 

It is a universally acknowledged fact that nothing is slower than a piece of technology when you need something from it quickly. Waiting for the phone to boot up every time he wanted to look at it was going to become annoying very quickly. Peace vaguely wondered if he could run some wires from Daisy’s body. The phone finally loaded and Peace tapped the screen a few times. Guitar and drums began to play from the speaker. He nodded then hopped up onto a log.

“Delusions and dreams are just opposite sides of the same coin,” Peace began in an attempt at an inspirational speech. “You have lived a fake life. The world forced you to be something that you didn’t want, tortured you for it and taught you to run and hide. I hated that old world. It was an utter bastard. But now it’s broken body is lying bleeding on the ground, just waiting for us to finish it off. 

“For people like you the world isn’t any scarier now. People wanted to abuse and kill you before and they want to abuse and kill you now. Well fuck that. Fuck them and the horses they ride in on. This is your time now. Don’t run from it.”

Peace had grown up watching movies where inspirational speeches were made and the group cheered or looked on with teary eyes. Daisy just sighed and shook her head. An important part of such characters was charisma or gravitas. Peace had the charisma of a puppy on cocaine. Sure, most people liked him, but they were also worried by his continued existence and felt pity as they wait for the OD to kick in while he dies in a pool of his own vomit.

“That’s all a little rich coming from you, a suicidal teen with no long term plans.”

“I prefer the term ‘Motivationally Challenged’ thank you. But that’s what you’re not understanding. I wanted to escape, just like you. I don’t have to anymore. Here I can just exist, and that’s really all I’ve ever wanted. Why complicate it with other things? So what say we head into town, rob a store and get you some nice clothes and some makeup. Treat yourself. It’s the end of the world afterall, that’s a pretty special occasion.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy, lazy, and my motivations are hazy. So what say you, Daisy?” Peace rapped poorly. He turned his back and started to walk toward the town, singing offkey to himself. Daisy cursed then jogged after him, his phone still in her hand.

They walked back into town and made their way to the shell of a supermarket. The place was a mess. Shelves were smashed and the ground was littered with boxes and spilled liquids. A group of three men were scavenging through the debris, but after one look at Peace they quickly left.

“Bloody idiots,” Peace muttered, indicating the wreckage. “Society has broken down with all food chains falling apart, so what does some bright little prick do? He destroys food supplies for the shits and giggles. This is why we can’t have nice things.”

That phrase actually sums up humanity quite well. Human history is filled with death and destruction that all basically stem back to someone wanting something and making it bad for everyone in the process. One wonders what humanity could have achieved if they took a step back and worked together. But then, they wouldn’t be human, would they? It’s one of the species’ main quirks. 

If Peace could gaze back into the mists of time then he would have seen that two women had actually cut the expected lifespan of the locals by destroying a source of food. Being an ambiguous narrator makes me basically a god, so that’s no problem for me. You see, once the initial dust of the change had settled and the adrenaline faded, base human nature took the reins again. The looting became less about panicked survival and more about filling the void of impending doom with pretty things. It’s the human way.

So it was that we find two women looting the supermarket two days before Peace arrived. A nice dress caught both of their eyes, but what a tragedy, there was only one. The women fought, destroying the store, and the dress in the process.

Back in the present though, Peace picked his way through the store with the thinly veiled anger that men in a supermarket who are unable to find what they want can relate to. He hadn’t visited the store in over two years, and even without the destruction, nothing was displayed in the same area as it had been back then. 

He finally found what he wanted and called Daisy over. He was surrounded by makeup, most of which was somehow intact. The change had taken the concept of beauty down a few pegs, replaced instead by the concept of how nice a tin of baked beans actually was. 

Peace motioned towards the pile proudly. Daisy still looked unimpressed. 

“New world, new woman,” he stated. “Let’s ignore the fact that your dreams of transitioning have likely been dashed on the rocks like a newborn seal after society’s collapse. Embrace yourself. What have you got to lose at this point?”

“This isn’t about who I am. I’m not scared to embrace myself, If I was I’d have never come out in the first place. This is about survival. Pretty clothes and makeup aren’t going to help with that. Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t.” Peace shrugged. “It’s just my personal philosophy. I value freedom. So many rules and expectations are stifling. I want to live my life how I want to live. If it doesn’t inconvenience me then I’ll help anyone find their freedom. Consider me a missionary for the Church of Not Giving a Fuck.”

As he spoke, he dug through the makeup until he found a tube of eyeliner. He was no stranger to makeup himself and began framing his eyes in black. As he dug through the supplies, applying and pocketing anything that took his fancy, Daisy simply watched. When he was finished he looked peak emo as though he was ready to join the Black Parade itself. 

“This is a waste of time,” Daisy snapped when Peace held up a selection of bottles and tubes.

“What even is time anymore? You’re in such a rush but you don’t have any destination or goal in mind. Life is for living, and all time is now is a measure of life. So either try and relax or tell me what you’d rather be doing?”

“I don’t know. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is to feel safe. Well, feel safe and feel comfortable in my own body, but that isn’t going to happen now.”

 “I’ve heard rumours of people gathering together in the south. It sounds like they’re trying to rebuild things. That’s as safe as you’re gonna get unless you learn to live off the land real quick. I’ll take you there. How’s that sound?”

“Why would you do that for me? You’ve already said you don’t care what I do.”

“I don’t care what I do either. Wander south or wander north, it makes no difference to me. There’s zero additional effort to help you out.”

“You just want access to your phone for a while longer, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Daisy took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go south with you. But first, let me find some good makeup.”

Previous – Chapter 6. A Shelter of Hope.

Next – Chapter 8.

Chapter 6. A Shelter of Hope. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Life is an act. An individual’s outward personality is nothing but a mask forged to garner acceptance in a world without truth. 

Damian knew this all too well. Everything in his life was an act. Working in fast food as he had, the number one commandment had been to always smile and be polite to customers even when 90% of the time they deserved a round of apple bobbing in the deep fat fryers. Life was miserable, and the job eroded any faith in humanity, but you kept smiling and said what people wanted to hear despite the truth of the matter.

This is true for all aspects of life. A common greeting is to ask how one another are doing, but it would be a breach of social etiquette to actually express any real feelings of sadness. Life was about putting on a strong front. 

When his wife had died and he had been left to care for a small child, everyone constantly asked him how he was coping. The answer was always ‘fine’ despite the darkness and hopelessness of his thoughts. His love was gone, his child would never know a mother’s love, and he was struggling to make ends meet. But he had to be strong. There was no other path to take.

Gods were much the same way. They were mental shields of strength designed to fortify the inherent weakness of humanity. Men needed gods to guide them. The Bible had got that right at least. Humans were sheep, too stupid to choose the right directions without somebody to show them the way and stop them from straying. 

Flames burned brightly, illuminating the darkness of night. A whole block of flats would be nothing but ash and rubble by the morning. That was the fate of any who opposed Damian Smithson. That was the price of order.

“All resistance has been quelled,” reported a dark-skinned man with greying hair. “Twelve dead. Eighteen came over to our side. Another six fled the scene.”

Damian nodded. “Good. I take it that none of our men were hurt too badly. The plan was as foolproof as humanly possible under the circumstances. It would all be so much easier if they just listened to me and joined us without a fight.”

“Humans love to be led but they’ll never make it easy. We are a people of contradictions. We are ever changing yet are so resistant to any change that they will drag their feet every step of the way. It will get easier.”

“Too easy I fear,” Damian sighed. “Tell me Jonathan, what gives you the faith to keep moving forward? You are a man of belief belonging to the Church of Redemption yet you follow a man who seeks to destroy the very foundation of your being. Why?”

“You can destroy the church and all organised religion if you wanted to but you cannot destroy belief itself. What I think and feel in my soul cannot be altered by you. Besides, your heart is in the right place. Like our Lord, you strive to be the father to humanity and guide us to a better future. Sometimes that requires unpalatable actions.”

Damian considered these words carefully. He had never considered himself a leader but here he was now. No point slowing down or doubting himself. It is amazing what humans can achieve against the odds with nothing more than a blinding confidence in themselves.

His thoughts were interrupted by a young man who came rushing to his side. The boy had been a delinquent from one of the previous gangs that Damian had dealt with who had seen the error of his ways. He was a good kid now that he had some motivation.

“Sir, I just spoke with some of the local lads. The only other major group in the area is a bunch of women. They say that all the women joined up and took over a school campus a few miles from here. Everyone who’s tried to break in has been beaten back.”

“Good for them. That is the kind of attitude that should be applauded,” Damian told them with a satisfied nod.

“Should I gather everyone up ready to pay them a visit?” 

“We are not conquerors and nor is the world our enemy. We should praise such groups, not march upon them in force. I shall go alone to speak with them.”

Jonathan nodded his head. “What are your orders for the rest of us?”

“Secure the area and comfort what people remain here. Begin the usual changes.”

“Sir,” the older man answered before leaving. 

Now Damian was alone. His Amelia was back at the church with an elderly woman who had reared five children of her own. Damian had no doubts that he could protect his baby but there was no reason to subject her to potential danger or the sight of death. He wanted her to grow up happy in a kinder world.

With that ambition firmly in his mind he set off toward the school that the locals now knew as the Shelter. He had always had a good sense of direction and found his way easily through the destroyed streets to the outskirts of the town where a collection of buildings sat huddled together a short way away from any other structure.

The area around the gated compound was in ruins but the school buildings themselves looked fairly undamaged. Damian approached the gate at a carefree pace then waited in front of them. At first nothing happened but after a few minutes the doors to the largest building opened and a group of women started to head towards him.

“Why are you here?” asked a dark haired woman when the group arrived at the other side of the gate. She was stocky but had fair skin and wrapped dignity around herself like a cloak. “Men are not welcome.”

Damian considered the woman’s words and offered her a small smile. “A fair policy during these troubled times. It will not help to rebuild society though. Humanity must stand together, not become divided over such trivial things as gender. It is what is inside of us that counts, not that which lies between our legs.”

“We will not support any rebirth of society based upon patriarchy. Men have caused all of the world’s problems throughout history so now we will make our stand,” the woman announced passionately. Some of the other women nodded their agreement.

Damian frowned. He had not expected this. He didn’t really understand it either. Sure, men were bastards who would kill you in a heartbeat and couldn’t think past money and sex for long in too many cases, but women were no better. Men tended to know that they were simple creatures and were happy enough to acknowledge it while women wrapped themselves in denial.

“You attribute so much evil to us but most men just try to get by, earning enough money to support their families.”

“Support? More like enslave,” she spat. “They tell us that we are weak and stupid then make us reliant upon them. Men cage us in marriage then use us to cook meals, rear children and have sex with. All men are oppressors, no matter how noble they believe their intentions to be.”

Damian was at a complete loss now. How did you reason with people like this? The scientific method to do so is that you simply can’t. Once again, these people’s personal reality supersedes the universal reality and cannot be shaken by such petty things as evidence or logic.

A slow fire had begun inside of Damian that took him by surprise. He was angry. He had worked hard all of his life in a job that he hated to pay for his ill mother’s care home, support his wife and then to bring up his daughter. If he was going to be vilified for trying his hardest to be a good man then he would give them something to vilify him for. 

Fiery sparks began to spiral in the centre of his palm until the appearance of yet another woman like a valkyrie from the skies caused him to cut them off abruptly.

“What is going on here?” the new woman asked with all the authority that the words could hold. “Fay, you have been told to report to me when outsiders arrive.  You’ve tried to go behind my back too many times. Go back inside and wait for me in my office while I speak with our guest.”

“He will only bring us trouble,” sneered the first woman

“Now!” snapped the newcomer. The group of women reluctantly turned and made their way back up the path to the building.

Anyone who believes that human society automatically veers toward patriarchal rule has clearly never seen a ‘mother hen’ type woman in action. Her word is law and some cosmic force ensures that everyone obeys. Men might seem outwards in charge but it is only the barbeque effect. Have you noticed that, in most cases, it is the women who cook 99% of the family meals but when it comes down to cooking meat outside on an open flame that it is suddenly the men who take charge? Men like to look powerful and in charge to fulfil their masculine ego when it is a public occasion then are happy to sit back and let someone else do all the important stuff. Rulers work in much the same way, appearing as figureheads while secretaries and advisors wield the real power.

The woman was short and had frizzy hair. She looked like she should have worn glasses, but then glasses were pointless after the Change. She wore jeans and a jumper that both appeared undamaged.

“Sorry about that,” the woman said. She began to open the gate. “We don’t get many peaceful men come here. At least, I hope you are peaceful or you will regret it.”

Damian held up his hands placatingly. “I’m here to talk, nothing more.”

“Good. I am Julie Winters. You could say that I run this place.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Damian Smithson. I lead Redemption, the largest group in this area.”

Mrs Winters nodded. “Yes. I have had word of your organisation’s progress. You have achieved much in such a short time. I expect that you are far from finished through.”

She led Damian inside the building. The place still looked clean and orderly compared with the outside world. Tables and chairs had been moved and hastily arranged bedding filled several of the old classrooms. The women who moved around the corridors were not scared refugees seeking shelter but confident and in control. Damian was impressed.

He was shown into a small office containing two chairs, a desk, and pile upon pile of paperwork. Mrs Winters took the seat behind the desk and motioned for Damian to take the other. She took a small notebook from one pile and opened it up, a pen in her hand held like a cobra ready to strike.

“Please ignore the mess,” she told him. “Keeping track of supplies and who is doing what has proven to be a huge part of my recent life. You don’t realise how much space all of that data takes up without computers.”

 Damian sat and tried to look at ease. He felt uncomfortable here but couldn’t let it show. He couldn’t look commanding either though. 

In as friendly a voice as he could manage he slipped into salesman mode. “You have done well for yourselves here,” he began. “This is an island of calm in a raging ocean of chaos and death. May I ask what your plans are?”

Mrs Winters sighed faintly. “We are undecided. This place was set up as a sanctuary for people to come to and feel safe. Many here see no reason to alter anything so long as we are able to continue offering safety.”

“Tell me, do you believe that humans are fundamentally good?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you think that humans are good at heart and are driven to do evil by circumstance or are they flawed, selfish beings? Nature versus nurture?”

The woman frowned and was silent for a while. When she made no sign of answering Damian continued.

“What I am asking is: do you believe that if we leave the people outside of these walls to their own devices that they will pull together and end the violence or continue to rampage until the world is too damaged to recover? Can humanity walk the correct path without a shepherd to guide them?”

To be honest, nature versus nurture is a flawed human concept. Good and evil only exists to humans. Every other creature on the planet only does what is needed to survive. As babies, humans are selfish sacks of meat that scream and cry for its needs to be fulfilled and this continues as a toddler. They snatch other’s toys and throw tantrums to get their own way. Cruelty, honour, mercy and hate are all distinctly human traits. It doesn’t matter either how good a person is as they are only ever two meals, (or two cups of tea in England), away from breaking down and stabbing someone thirty seven times in the chest.

Mrs Winters fixed unwavering eyes onto Damien. “I suppose that things won’t get better without people trying. Society needs to be led. I assume that you feel that it is you who should be this leader?”

This was the moment. Damian’s next words would determine the future of the world. He didn’t know this. To him it was the balancing point in securing more allies but it affected so much more than he could ever have guessed.

“When the Changed happened I became stronger than those around me. Not only in my body but in my conviction of making this world a good place for my daughter to grow up in. She is my world. I didn’t want any of this, I was a struggling widow working in fast food, but I was given the power to make a change. To not use that power would be the real sin.”

“Are you a religious man, Mr Smithson?”

Damian laughed softly. “I am just a man. I believe that which I can apply logic to. Sadly, religion and logic do not see eye to eye. God is fundamentally a contradiction of himself, not to mention all of the contradictions in the Bible. How could God be all powerful yet choose to let people suffer? He would not be all loving in that scenario. Why pray to Him when, being all knowing, He would already know everything in your heart and head so would not need you to tell Him? Why do you ask?”

“Some would see you as chosen,” Mrs Winters said slowly. “That perhaps you are destined to greatness. By God or by Satan, somebody must have blessed you. Either way, let’s not beat around the bush. What do you want from us?”

“Want? It isn’t really a question of wants. It is a need. Humanity needs us to work together. Your group is the last collection of people in this town that haven’t pledged themselves to me. Can you imagine how rare a unified area is right now? I don’t ask for your loyalty, but for your cooperation.”

Mrs Winters watched him closely as he spoke. Damian felt uncomfortable under that calm scrutiny. He had grown used to anger and abuse. That was something he could deal with. Reasonable people felt much more intimidating these days.

“I sense a lot of darkness in you, Mr Smithson. You have a great gift, and we both know that you’ll use it violently. There will be a lot of blood on your hands by the end.”

Damian nodded, keeping his own eyes fixed on his thin hands. They were hands that had killed men, but then they were the same hands that comforted Amelia. 

“Great good demands great sacrifice. Somebody has to do it. Every drop of blood on my hands, and every bit of extra weight on my soul, is one less burden for the children that follow in the path we carve for them.”

Mrs Winters seemed to stare into his soul, assessing the damage it had already sustained. A kettle began to whistle from a small fire that burned in the corner. Only then did the woman look away. As she busied herself pouring out two cups she spoke slowly.

“I am willing to listen to what you have to say. Just know that we will not be bullied or threatened. I’d rather see humanity die out than build a society on the subjugation of the women in my care.”

“That is a fair stance to take. Let us begin then.”

Previous – Chapter 5. An Electrifying Transition.

Next – Chapter 7. A New Look.

Chapter 5. An Electrifying Transition. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Peace gazed into the still water of the canal. It was brown and smelled, but compared to the smell coming from Peace himself, it was the lesser of two evils. He hadn’t had a wash since the night before the Change. It had rained on the previous day, but he was beginning to doubt the benefits of his natural shower.

His clothes were in a bad state and his hair was slick with grease. The bandages that wrapped around his arms were yellowed and torn. All in all, he looked like something the cat had dragged in from a minefield.

He stripped then unwound the bandages before climbing down metal rungs set into the stone into the water below. It was cold, but then Peace was numb to most sensations so it didn’t affect him much. He scrubbed at his skin and the bundle of clothes, splashing around noisily as he sang out of tune to himself.

These past two weeks had been the best of his life. The gray cloud that had hung over his soul for the past few years had faded. There were no expectations placed upon him and there was no stress about money or finding a career. He didn’t have to fake being nice to people and he didn’t have to do anything that he didn’t want. This was true freedom.

Lots of people had tried to attack him at first, but word of the black haired youth with wrapped up arms had spread quickly and people had learned to keep their distance from him. Now his life was simple. Pure survival was his only concern and that was almost too easy with his newfound strength and endurance. 

Only a few minutes had passed when his bath was interrupted by nearby shouts. He tried to ignore them but they showed no signs of going away.

“Damn it!” he hissed angrily. “As fun as it is, I wanted five minutes without having to smash someone through a wall. Inconsiderate pricks.”

Peace grabbed one of the rungs and launched himself straight out of the water and onto the grass with a single movement. Not even thinking to dress, he stormed off in the direction of the voices. The commotion was coming from an adjacent bungalow where a group of men could be seen through the front window. 

Peace kicked the door open. It flew off of its hinges and through several walls before exiting the building on the other side. The men all turned to see the intruder. Peace took in the scene before him. Six men stood around a seventh person with an assortment of makeshift weapons. 

In stories, the character’s eyes, the narrator’s eyes and the reader’s eyes can all see very different things. What Peace saw was a long haired man in a dress stood in the centre. An effeminate man, sure, but a man none the less. As an omniscient presence, I can delve deeper into the scene and say that, despite what evidence her eyes suggested, this person fervently believes with her whole heart and soul that she is a woman. As I have stated before, personal belief usually supersedes universal fact, so who am I as a voice in your head to argue with her?

“Six against one doesn’t sound like very sporting odds,” Peace said into the tense quiet. “Unless I am the one. If you want to fight me then I’d call in some friends if I were you.”

“Stay out of this!” the woman growled determinedly. “This is my fight. I will not be pushed around any longer!” Her voice was not right either but Peace couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Peace stared at her for a moment then shrugged and slumped into an over-stuffed armchair.

“Go ahead then. Put on a good show.”

In this time the men had not reacted. Two of them turned back to the woman while the others watched Peace cautiously. Having a naked man barge in on them then sit himself down to watch had not been a part of their expectations for how this scene was going to go down. Peace simply watched with an amused expression. 

The woman gripped something tightly in her hand. Peace observed her curiously. Weapons didn’t do much good since the Change. He couldn’t see what it was but knives struggled to cut through human skin and blunt objects could barely make a bruise, let alone break bones. Whatever it was, it looked too small to do much of anything.

“This is our place now, freak,” spat one of the men. 

He grabbed her shoulder and made to shove her. Her hand darted out into his ribs and there was a flash of light and a crackling sound. The man’s entire body convulsed and shook violently. He fell to the floor in a twitching heap.

This sparked events into action. All of the men jumped towards her. She jabbed out with the small object repeatedly, filling the room with flashes of light. The sheer number of opponents still overwhelmed her. She took several hits but kept fighting, using her nails and feet as well as the tiny weapon.

Peace was pretty impressed with the display. She had zero fighting skill but refused to go down. Without the device she would have been beaten quickly but with it she was actually winning. This just made Peace all the more curious.

The last man spasmed then fell. Covered in her own blood and panting, the woman staggered away from the pile of unconscious men and supported herself on a nearby table.

Peace appeared at her side. “Not bad, though it was over too quickly. Where’s the fun if you knock everyone out with a single jab?”

“Fun?” she muttered. “I was fighting for my life.”

“Yeah. Heart pounding, adrenaline flowing and everything on the line. That is how you feel! That is a real thrill.”

“You’re mental.”

Peace just grinned insanely at her.

She shook her head. “Who exactly are you?”

“Me? I’m a nobody. Peace is my name though.”

“Peace?”

“Yeah. Hippy parents. Named my sister Love. I think that I came off easy. Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What the hell did you do to them?”

The woman opened her hand and turned it toward Peace while keeping it far enough away from him that he couldn’t easily grab it. It was a small, black stungun.

“Hold up a second,” Peace began. “Electronics don’t work any more. Trust me, I tried. Life without music was unbearable until I discovered the sweet sounds of carnage. How can your stungun still be working?”

“Haven’t you noticed that people have developed more powers than just being really strong and fast?”

“Not really.”

“How are you still alive when you are this ignorant of what’s going on around you?”

Peace thought about this. “I punch things really hard until they leave me alone.”

The woman sighed. “Look, people can do things now that we never could before. I can make technology work. I don’t know how but it’s like any electronic that is touching me becomes a part of my body. I can control and power them. Our bodies are stronger now but they seem weak to electricity. I’m not sure why but electric shocks hit people really hard now.

“So let’s say that I find a phone with some good music on it…”

“It would only work in my hands. I can’t just get something working then hand it back.”

“Crap. So you’re useless.”

“Excuse me?” the woman exclaimed, affront in her voice. “Is that it? I can’t charge your bloody phone so you no longer care at all about me? You have no intention of even asking my name?”

“Nope.”

 The woman’s face was becoming flushed with indignation. 

“Well I’m going to tell you anyway! It’s Daisy! Remember it! I’ve found out humanity’s new weakness and have, to my knowledge, sole access to use it. I will not be pushed anymore!”

Peace ignored most of what she had said. He looked at her quizzically. 

“Daisy?”

“That’s right. You got a problem with it?”

“No. Only, Daisy is a girl’s name and you kinda look and sound like a man. No offense.”

Daisy clenched her fist around the stungun. “Saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t make something not offensive. I am a woman locked away in a man’s body. Are you a bigoted jerk who is going to take issue with that?”

Peace shrugged again. “Not really. It’s just weird is all.”

“Weird? Coming from the guy with scars all across your arms. Self inflicted by the look of them. Cutting yourself up to feel. Attempted suicide too, right?”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I am pretty weird. You know what though, I see it as a badge of honour. I’m weird and I’m proud of it. My insanity keeps me sane and my pain brings relief. I am not normal and never want to be. To be normal is to be boring, to be part of the 99%. I am me and you are you and nobody can take that away from us.”

Daisy lowered the stungun and dropped onto a wooden stool. She didn’t know whether to punch Peace or hug him. She had spent the weeks since the Change hiding wherever she could. She had been homeless before the Change and had plenty of enemies for no other reason than what she was. She had escaped most but there were always people ready to lash out at that which they did not understand. This bungalow had only been her home for two days but now it looked time to move on.

“What’s your plan then, kid?” she asked him as she began to gather up supplies. “Got a family to go back to? A place to go?”

“I’m just wandering around. I checked out my house but it was empty. No idea where the folks could be,” he answered through a long yawn.

“Don’t you want to find them?”

“Nah. I’m enjoying this life. They’ll be fine without me. Or already dead. Either way means I’m good to just chill wherever. What about you?”

Daisy thought hard about her answer. Her general plan had never progressed beyond survive.

“I’ll find somewhere new to hole up in. It’s worked alright up to now.”

“It’s gonna be dark soon,” Peace observed. “You won’t have much time to look around. I have a shelter in the woods if you want somewhere to camp for the night.”

“Really?” Nobody had shown her any compassion since the Change. If she had a kind word thrown her way then that was a blessing but here was someone offering her a roof over her head and some company, if only for the night.

“I’d be grateful. I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone for months. Though I’d appreciate it more if you put some clothes on first.”

Peace offered her a grin. “Cool. I still have my phone on me. You get my amazing company and I get some music. Everybody’s happy.”

“God damn it…”

Previous – Chapter 4. A Flock of Faithful.

Next – Chapter 6. A Shelter of Hope.

Chapter 4. A Flock of Faithful. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Some of you by now might be wondering why certain people were changed more dramatically than others. Why can Peace Lenrow withstand attacks that crippled others and tear through toughened flesh like tissue? Why can Damian Smithson create beams of energy? 

The answer is more simple, (or infinitely more complicated depending on your outlook), than you would ever think. The universe needs to get its shit together. Everything in existence is just so random that it only offers the visage of order. Mutated genes lead to evolution, taking a single cell and turning it into every animal and insect on the planet. Even in humans, random traits manifest themselves without explanation. One person can naturally remember every single thing they have ever read, seen or done while another could develop muscle at an accelerated rate. Someone else could be unable to move at birth or be inclined to gain excess fat.

So people like Peace and Damian are simply genetic abnormalities. This story could have been focussed on someone else but then, it wouldn’t be a very interesting story, would it? We are following these two individuals in particular because they are the centre points of upcoming events. They are the right people in the right place at the right time. 

I suppose there was also the dog that single handedly, er pawedly, saved Africa from aliens during this time, but let’s not confuse things that much just yet.

For you see, things were moving quickly for the people of Earth. Society cannot be destroyed as easily as some people believe. View society as water. It can change and flow, even become ice or steam, but no matter how much you break it down, it will always pool into small groups that seek to become larger until the whole is once again reformed. Humans hate other humans yet cling to them for survival.

Groups had begun to emerge from the chaos that individuals flocked to for protection. Only, these groups then proceeded to fight one another in larger battles for control of lands or resources. This is how countries are forged and are usually viewed by historians as jolly exciting times.

One such group had made its home inside an old church that had been, rather redundantly, barricaded and fortified. This is the building where an empire began. As we look upon it we see Damian Smithson approaching the grand doors alone. At least, alone beside the giggling baby that was fastened into a harness on his chest.

He knocked on the door, careful to limit his strength and not damage the wood. It didn’t open. Instead a voice called out from within. 

“Begone. These are the holy grounds of the Church of Redeemers. None may walk these hallowed halls without the Lord’s blessing.”

“And how would I gain your Lord’s blessing?”

“By worship, good deeds and a charitable donation to our organisation.”

 “How is the amount deemed enough?”

“Sorry?”

“How much should I pray? How many good deeds should I accomplish? What good deeds could I even do as a single man in a world of chaos. How much money should I donate when money has become so devalued that it is all but worthless?” 

Damian received no answer for several long seconds. “Erm…” started a voice before it trailed off. Hushed voices were just audible behind the door. More seconds passed.

Eventually the voice returned. “Look, just go away. We don’t want to let you in. Okay?”

Damian sighed. “That is such a shame. I quite liked this door. So much hard work must have gone into making it while such little effort will go into destroying it. That is the way of the world though I suppose.”

He placed the palm of his hand on the door and pushed. Metal screeched, stone broke away and wood buckled. The door collapsed inwards, revealing the interior of the church and two dozen or so faces torn between shock and anger.

“You will suffer for this sacrilege!” screamed a grey haired man in robes of white and gold. They were not the clothes of any position in the church that Damian knew of but sought to surpass even the Pope in their pompous grandeur.  

“I suspect that we all will suffer before the end,” Damian said softly. He looked the white clad man directly in the eyes as he spoke.

Damian looked unimpressive compared to most of the men within the church. He was still scrawny and dressed like a paperpusher even now. He had thick glasses, thinning blond hair and a baby on his chest. What was not so visible obvious though was that in the two weeks since the Change, Damian had been training. He had pushed his body to heights that would have destroyed his old self. In such a short time there were few physical signs of this but he carried himself with a strength and dignity that he had never known in his life before.

“You heretic! Infidel! How dare you break into my sanctuary! I am the Grand Redeemer and I will not accept such blatant disrespect. You will be scourged from this world in the holy fires of redemption!” screeched the man, self-importance filling his every word.

“You mean like this?” Damian asked. He held out his hand. There was a spark then a blazing fire appeared in his grip.

The Grand Redeemer, (who was actually a stamp critic called Dave Smeg. Tragic, I know. With a name and occupation like that he was never going to be a balanced individual), stammered and gawped. He recovered amazingly fast though.

“You hold no sway here, conjuror. Your black magic of Hell passed to you by Satan does not intimidate me!”

Damian considered this. “Fires of Hell? Are they not pure enough for you?”

The flames grew fiercer until they burned with a blinding white light. Everyone in the room besides Damian covered their eyes from the painful glare. Amelia giggled happily and reached out a tiny hand toward the flames. The light faded, dulling back down to a gentle amber flame.

“This is what is going to happen,” Damian announced as the men began to lower their arms and reopen their eyes. “Your little group here represents the closest thing to order in this area. Society needs order, now more than ever. You are going to help me to spread this order.”

The Grand Redeemer sneered in a way that twisted his already ugly face. “Order is but a byproduct of our true ambition. The End is nigh and we must use what time we have left to spread the word and mercy of God!”

Damian shook his head. “About that. The whole religious angle is not in the world’s best interest. Religion has caused so much conflict throughout human history that it would be a poor decision to build a new society upon its back.”

A woman stepped forward who had kept well back before now. She was a stout woman with rough skin, the kind of woman you see in working class backgrounds who work all hours of the day to keep their family, community and the world in general running.

“But what about all the good that the church has ever done? The charity work and support? The hope that we give people?”

“But what about all the good that war has ever done? The advances in technology and medicine? The removal of corrupt regimes?” Damian replied calmly. “Do they make war a good thing?”

“That is not the same!” 

“I believe to the contrary. 

We have already witnessed what happens when common sense is ignored. Sometimes though, human stupidity extends beyond the simple breach of common sense and into the realms of downright objection to the survival instincts. Those people with fervent beliefs, whatever the beliefs may be, are unable to see past those beliefs at the bigger picture of the tiny picture of their own life.

“You have revealed yourself to be a Godless sinner!” Grand Redeemer Smeg howled. “The Lord will smite you down! It shall be me who rebuilds this world, not you, demon! I-AAAAARRRRRRGGGH!”

His ranting was cut short as his eyes burst into flames, which quickly erupted across his body. His skin melted and his bones cracked until only ash remained inside the robes. The robes themselves were completely undamaged.

“The name is Damian, not demon. Easy mistake to make,” Damian told the smouldering human remains in a level voice. He turned back to the others. “Sorry about that. He wouldn’t listen to reason. So, does anybody else have any issues with me taking command here?”

There was a brief moment of silence as the men and women shared horrified looks with one another.

“No, boss. No issues at all. Lead on.”

“Good,” Damian muttered. “Let us begin then. This world will not rebuild itself.”

Previous – Chapter 3. A Brave New World.

Next – Chapter 5.

Chapter 3. A Brave New World. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Peace Lenrow was hungry. The door to his room hadn’t been opened in days. He had heard loud noises but had seen no sign of life. The electricity seemed to be down too. Something wasn’t right but he had not cared until now.

He stood up, flexing muscles that had not seen much use lately. It was beginning to dawn on him that he should be in pain. By now the hunger should have been eating at his stomach and seeping his strength. Instead he only felt a slight pang, almost a craving for flavour more than sustenance. 

“Hey! Anybody out there? Nurse! Anyone!” he shouted to the door. 

There was no answer. It would have been a surprise if there had been one since the building was empty except for Peace and another patient who was enjoying the solitude. The staff had ceased coming to work and most of the other patients had left. Super strength and a sound mind had done wonders for them.

His door was locked every night and had not been unlocked since his last visit from the nurse days before. He knocked then paused. His knuckles had left dents in the wood. He knocked again, harder this time, and the door shook in its frame. He shrugged then stepped back before ramming into it with his shoulder. 

The door burst open and Peace staggered into the corridor beyond. His concerns were confirmed as he took in the state of his surroundings. It looked like a storm had passed through the building. There were broken doors, shattered glass and several large holes in the walls. 

He walked over the debris in his cotton pajamas and fluffy slippers without feeling a thing. Glass crunched but no pain registered. A vague sense that his soul must finally have died washed over him slowly. He was truly numb to the world.

Only, he wasn’t. In reality he was more in tune with the world than ever before in his life and the reason that he could feel no pain was due to the strengthening of his body after the Change. It is strange though that reality has a tendency to bend itself around the beliefs of particularly delusional individuals. Personal reality trumps actual reality so often that you could be forgiven for thinking that we actually live in a truly chaotic world.

As such, it was not important what the universe had done to Peace Lenrow but what Peace thought that the universe had done to him. For all that he knew, the world could have been in perfect order and all of this was a product of his own delusional mind. 

Peace felt surprisingly happy. Whether it was the breakdown of society or the breakdown of his sanity, he was free. His biggest problem with life had always been other people so any reality without them was close enough to Heaven for him.

That sense of liberation didn’t last long though. No sooner had Peace left the hospital to be greeted by the ruins of his town, than his dream of escaping humanity was shattered. Swaggering down the centre of the road was a group of men who laughed loudly among themselves. Peace felt a vein twitch on his forehead.

I, as an omnipotent narrator, can tell you that the men had been washed up wrecks sustained by drugs and alcohol after never achieving anything in life. A successful football career cut short from an injury, a young love brought to an end by uncontrolled anger, and children born too early in life were the kinds of hallmarks worn by these bitter individuals.

“Old Jonesey didn’t know what hit him,” one cackled. “How many times had he and his lads beat us up? Then wham! I hit him with a car. Just picked it up and smacked him like it were a cricket bat. The look on his brother’s face. Ha!”

“They didn’t stand a chance,” sniggered another. “We run this town now.”

Another man suddenly noticed Peace and pointed him out to the others. “Hey look. Someone’s just come from the loony bin.”

Peace suppressed a sigh as every head in the group turned to focus in on him. He wasn’t very good with people. They had a tendency to annoy and confuse him. He tried to ignore them and keep walking but they had other ideas.

“What you doing out of your comfy little pillow cell, eh?” grinned a bald man with the build of a rugby player and the face of a crashed plane. 

Peace didn’t respond, instead changing his direction to try and avoid the group. One of the men grabbed his arm and pulled him back around.

“It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re speaking to you, boy. Maybe you’re a bit behind on the times. See, things have changed. We are the top dogs around here now. You do as we say. Got that?”

Peace frowned. “Sorry. What did you say? I zoned out for a minute there. Something about dogs. I like dogs.”

The man’s grip tightened on Peace’s arm. “Who the hell do you think you are, retard?”

“Who do I think I am?” Peace mused aloud. “A better question would surely be who do you think I am? I know who I am. I think.”

Cogs were turning inside the man’s head. Understanding dawned on him with about the same speed as an English sunrise in December. Anger sparked at the boy’s insolence and he lashed out his fist with a grunt.

The fist connected with Peace’s face with the force of a freight-train. The man, who was called Nicolas Drager but still thought of himself as the lad about town ‘Dray’, expected one of three things to happen. The boy could be sent hurtling backwards through the front wall of the hospital, his head could be torn off and bounce across the roofs like a stray football or his skull could implode under the pressure. Dray had seen all three happen. 

He had never seen somebody stand and take it though. He took a quick step back after letting go of the boy’s arm. Peace stood still, his eyes unfocused. Blood dribbled from his lips and nose. His brain felt like it had been put through a blender. Agony crackled through him. He laughed. To feel anything brought a sense of euphoria to him.

The sunrise effect was again spreading through the group of men. Common Sense screamed that perhaps the best thing to do would be to leave the area as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, common sense is in fact one of the rarest of human traits despite its misleading name. Fight or flight battered at the instincts of the men but it was testosterone that ultimately led to a scrawny man yelling “Get ‘im!” Mob mentality took over from there while Common Sense looked on in disgust and facepalmed.

Five fully grown men with plenty of fighting experience versus a seventeen year old fresh from a mental hospital. It should have been over very quickly. It was.

Peace felt as though he existed beyond the usual confines of time and space. He saw the men move, not exactly in slow motion, but as though he had seen each action a million times before like a favourite movie. He knew where their fists would land and where they would leave themselves open. Images filled his head, processing all of the information around him so quickly that he didn’t understand what was going on. 

He wove around the flurry of attacks without a care in the world but never fought back. Peace disliked fighting. Not because he was afraid of getting hurt but because it was a situation where all of the emotions that he tried to suppress came venting uncontrollably to the surface. Showing emotion made him less human. Pure rage would consume him and strip him of his humanity.

It had been a fight that had sealed his fate to be committed to the mental hospital. Self harm could be hidden, ignored, but biting off someone’s ear was somewhat more visible. It didn’t matter how horrible the person in question was. How many times they had bullied others, disrupted lessons and made life hell. The second someone snaps and puts them in their place they suddenly become the victim and you are a psychopath. 

One of the men caught him a blow across the back of the head with a brick that shattered on impact. Blood bubbled from the wound. Seeing that he could be hurt the men redoubled their efforts. Peace took a deep breath.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said in a voice that was too calm. 

Peace’s fist drove hard into the gut of the man in front of him. It didn’t stop until it had passed straight through his body. Blood splashed across Peace’s face. The man screamed and flopped to the floor. He was still alive but couldn’t move due to the hand sized gap in his spine. 

This moment marked the second important decision for the men to make. Common Sense stood up to make its case again then decided that it wasn’t even worth the effort and left to find a can of beer and a good seat to watch the show.

The men dove at Peace and he offered them a feral grin. His conscious thoughts stepped away from his brain and took a seat beside Common Sense. 

Every punch that Peace threw connected then continued on its merry way unhindered by such simple obstacles as flesh and bones. Screams and blood filled the air in a symphony of pain and suffering. It was only a matter of seconds until five writhing, bloodsoaked bodies littered the floor and Peace stood in their centre panting as he wrestled to regain his composure. 

It was a scene of utter carnage. Peace surveyed the damage with dead eyes. A butterfly fluttered past the groaning mess, catching Peace’s attention. The sight of it lifted his spirits and cast any memories of his actions from his mind. He wandered after the butterfly with a smile on his face, everything else forgotten.

Previous – Chapter 2. A Father’s Duty.

Next – Chapter 4. A Flock of Faithful.

Chapter 2. A Father’s Duty. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Humans are surprisingly dim for such clever creatures. It took them a while to work out that they had changed. People no longer got ill. They didn’t tire as easily, and they were stronger and faster than ever before. Lots of things happened that could only point toward humans having become more powerful, but people don’t like to connect the dots if the bigger picture is one that they don’t want to acknowledge. 

Even so, it was only a matter of days until the governments of the world were forced to announce that the experiment may not have gone entirely to plan. It went something along the lines of: “Somebody forgot to carry the one in the calculations and now the Earth and everything in it is atomically unstable. On a side note, you are all basically superman now. Please don’t use these powers and continue with your life as normal.”

If you think that anybody took that advice then you are more naive than I gave credit for. When confronted with power, human minds reach for extremities. They realise that they have no need to work when they could take anything that they want, or they develop a hero complex. Only, neither works when everybody is the same. 

How do you use your newfound powers to rob an old lady when she turns around and slaps you straight through a building? How do you protect the innocent when they can fully protect themselves?

Just like in nature though, not everyone was affected in equal measures. Some became stronger than others for reasons that nobody could tell. Many great stories of tragedy, triumph and the like rose during this time. There were millions of tales, such as Mrs Baker, and elderly woman who had been on her deathbed. After the Change she stood back up and took her poor dog on a long overdue walk in the park. Then there was Mr Dale who had thrown himself off of a skyscraper moments before the Change only to crash down onto a car and walk away unharmed, much to his own chagrin. 

None of these events factor into this particular narrative though. Instead we must shift our way through the chaos and miracles to a small terrace house in a rundown neighbourhood. It had always been run down but of late had been reduced to crumbling ruins.

Damian Smithson stood in the center of his living room with a crying baby cradled in one arm. He stared at his free arm, held out before him with fingers splayed, and watched tendrils of smoke curl around it. Before him on the ground lay a mound of charred bones.

Things had happened quickly. The bones belonged to a man who had broken into the house. This was a very literal statement too since there was a wide hole in the wall that marked the man’s entrance. He had come to steal from the single father, and Damian had done what he had to in order to protect his daughter. Only, neither man had expected Damian to fire a laser beam from his hand. People were stronger, faster, and could take more damage, but lasers? That was something new.

Slowly, Damian lowered his arm and tried to sooth the baby absentmindedly. He had always been weak. He was scrawny and had never advanced his career past being a supervisor at a fastfood restaurant. He had been bullied throughout his youth and had been unable to save his wife when she had been hit by a drunk driver two months ago. 

So why was he suddenly so powerful? Since the Change he had outclassed those around him. The man at his feet had not been the first to cross him. People could survive gunshots now but Damian had broken bones with a childlike ease. Only one explanation came to his mind.

He had been chosen.

“Hush Amelia,” he whispered to the child. “Don’t cry. Daddy is going to make the world a better place for you. Don’t fear the chaos, for I’ll bring order. Just you wait and see.”

Previous – Chapter 1. A Good Day for An Apocalypse.

Next – Chapter 3. A Brave New World.

Chapter 1. A Good Day for an Apocalypse. (A Rubber Ducky at the End of the World)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

They always said that if there ever was a God then He must have had a cruel sense of humour. Anything that would give free will then punish its use could hardly be rational. To know everything yet constantly test His children. To be all loving yet let children starve and die. To be all powerful yet never cast out evil. Yeah, that guy is a real joker. A joker, a sadist or a fraud.

We, as a society, cast Him out of our lives. I guess you could say that He had the last laugh though. Do you want to know the punchline? He passed his mantle down to us and gave us all of the power that we could ever dream of. We could have saved the world.

Instead we destroyed it.

It was a time of gods and madmen. Of chaos, death and destruction. Battles were fought which made history’s greatest wars seem like playground drama. Lives were forever changed and we had nobody to blame but our own human nature. 

It all began on a day like any other. Cliché, I know, but that’s how it is. All days are normal until something extraordinary happens. It was early Spring, one of the first warm days of the year. It was also a Thursday, if that’s important to you, in the year of our Lord 2019 AD. 53,567 people had already died that day. That’s nothing though. Over double that die every day on Earth. Makes you think, right? Continue reading →