Vuja De
Vuja De
October 19, 2024
“The calibration must be within .7 seconds for the device to work. This one has altered his memory with his drug use, so the margin for error is small.”
“How many times can we use the device before the subject can no longer be repaired?”
“For this subject, only once.”
I walked to work during that last morning. The news reported the end of the world began precisely at 1803 GMT. That would be 2:03 pm in Buffalo, New York, until the daylight saving time caught up.
It never would.
The shadows arrived first. An hour later, we saw the ships. An hour after that, I decided to get drunk and high on whatever I could find. I have been in this state for nearly two months now. That is why I am still alive.
The aliens sent droids, then bots, then retrievers. They had no inclination to show themselves or expose themselves to the myriad of viruses, bacteria, and/or parasites Earth had to offer. They did, however, expose the entirety of humanity to the viruses, bacteria, and/or parasites their God-forsaken world had to offer.
By sundown, nearly two-thirds of mankind died in ways too unspeakable to mention. Most of the mammalian populations died also. The insects thrived. The avians suffered. I located a pharmacy. I lost track of statistics after that.
Dawn matched the visual devastation with its olfactory partnership. The survivors wished they had perished. The retrievers gathered who they could find only to dissect each into portions more easily digestible to our new guests.
“The tolerance is still too large. It keeps shifting from one band to another. Couldn’t we track another? Perhaps someone more stable?”
“Find another to track. This one is the last human remaining.”
I roam aimlessly, easily avoiding the bots and retrievers. How? I do not know. Maybe I am invisible. Maybe, just maybe, they no longer view me as worth the effort. Somehow, I keep finding drugs to take. At first, I took them to feel good. Now, I take them to feel nothing.
“A lock! We have a lock! Activate the device immediately!”
I walked to work that morning. The newsman on the radio reported many sightings of “dark clouds” overhead, without a single object to create them. The man said it was something akin to an atmospheric plasma storm, something between a solar flare and the Northern Lights. A few flashes overhead mirror fireworks, but in the daytime? That isn’t right. Either way, I have to get to work on time.
I passed a homeless vet strung out from the night before. He wants money. He tells me he knows that “they” are here, but not to stay. He knows the truth. How can anyone that is drugged out know anything?