Doomsday – a short story

All night the lone man walked through the rain, feeling the steady drips of it on his head and shoulders while his weary eyes searched for darken dangers on the old highway leading from no where to nowhere in particular. The darken night had closed around him; he was wet and tired, his entire body felt pretty much like drawing within itself. Worn out he felt if the remaining human race and unimaginable things of the night all band had against him. The ancient highway losing itself in the darken night; he was dripping wet and sensed unfriendly eyes watching from the pitch-black shadows of ancient forest. Behind him he heard in the distance an outburst of pain and then a gut wrenching growl. On his exhausted face suddenly appeared a serious frown.
Now, chilling fingers of wind invaded his rain soaked traveling robe of tightly warped bear skins and madding droplets of raindrops fell upon his head.

The man was over three hundred years old, he looked younger; his hair untouched by gray however his one year old beard had turned gray. His anxious youthful face was dark from years of exposure to the sun and wind. It was a thoughtful face, long and serious, dominated by firmness. He was over six feet tall in height and carried no excess weight.

His harden body carried both old and new scares of battles won and lost.

He recognized his fascination of this once great land, now overcast with disease created by the hand of man.

The stranger was no scoundrel or villain but a wanderer searching through the ruins of a place once called America. He had learned over the past years of his long life to be unflinching and resolute. For the few moments he reflected, he had been born in “The City of Angels,” and raised in the great ever sprawling metropolis of Los Angeles. A crafted quilt blanket patched together and is successful that only a native can understand. People loved or hated LA but it is their city. Now all that was, was gone only to be a distance memory. The memory caused anguish. Not wanting to dwell on the past he shakes his head to clear his mind as if he was in some sort of hypnosis trance. He murmurs to himself, “Those sons of bitches.”

And yet, through the long years he retained his youthful concern for its struggling people. Only the seriousness of his expression suggested of the edge of his consciousness; but then, he had always been a serious man.

Once he in his remote past had been afraid of heights, snakes, normalcy, mediocrity, the initial silence of an empty house, poorly lit streets, professional failure, artificial intelligence, letting his father down, being paralyzed, hospitals, doctors, the cancer killed his mother, dying for a stupid reason…. Now he was afraid of being eaten alive.

Just then as those very thoughts crossed his mind the walking man felt deep within him a peaceful restless stir. It was still there, smoldering within him, he was not afraid at that particular moment knowing if needed his friend would strike out. Realizing and aware he wouldn’t be some nightmare creature’s dinner that day or any other day. Yet he must be always on his guard. Smiling to himself he continued walking on the broken blacktop of the ancient highway. With determination, one foot step followed by another he pushed ahead into the unknown that lay ahead. The moon came out to shine a moon glow ever so briefly. Momentary he stopped in his foot steps and then looked above into moon glow; immediately he saw large black birds were circling in the sky as if they were following him. Beyond he spied in the distance an ancient building beside the roadside. And as the man grew closer he noticed someone had built an inviting fire inside.

In the hushed night as the man became closer he smelled the aroma of roasted wild chicken and the odor of brewing coffee. Dismayed crossed his face while he looked around the surroundings to search for any hidden dangers. Spying none he entered the ruined building cautiously not letting his guard down. The aroma of cooking food made his mouth water and was overwhelming. Plus it had been years since he last had a cup sizzling coffee. There setting on the concrete floor next the warm fire while roasting chicken appeared to be an old man with his legs crossed Indian style. The old gent seemed to be asleep or in deep meditation.

The stranger did not want to disturb the meditating old man setting next to a warm camp fire. Several minutes passed, and then more time went by, yet the old gent continued his trance never once looking up or to make an effort to give notice to his recent visitor. As time continued to pass the stranger became unsettled and knew he must leave the warm quarters and mouth watering food untouched. It seemed he was unwelcome. Above everything else he had became nervous and suddenly he became aware of being drained and a sensation of being worn-down from hushed silence of the warm still room. Although tired, wet and hungry he started to rise and leave the warm building to face the darkness of night once again. Stretching he was ready to move his seemly lead-filled legs slowly.

Blinking his eyes the man became aware the old gent was watching him. The gent was a rather tall man setting motionless while situated next the warm fire as if he was waiting for someone. He looked out of place by his looks, demure and dress. By far, he didn’t meet the new world’s customs and behavior standards. His clothing is rather simple yet clean. The stranger became aware of his face which gives the impression of being ageless however at the same time strong and serene and undisturbed. His eyes were cheerfully but firm. He appeared familiar and somehow unfamiliar at the same time. It was hard to tell the man’s true age. The skin on the back of the stranger’s neck tingled with goose bumps. The saintly old man finally spoke.

“Hello Jack.” The old gent says as his hand touches the stranger’s chest.

Startled by the sound of his own name he shuddered. “How did he know my name?” Thought Jack to himself.

Licking his dry lips the only word to come out of his mouth is, “Yes.” His lungs drew in much needed oxygen. He said nothing seeing that he had became bewilder and tongue-tied as he faced the old man. Jack gave a glance and in the reflection of the camp fire his host didn’t seem old. Pausing for a second or two he gave fleeting look over to where the host was setting and noticed he was watching him, as if he could read his thoughts, all too clearly. Exasperated Jack stood up and undecided for a moment and gathered his thoughts. Rattled and thinking to himself, “as if I didn’t have enough on my plate already. What does he want from me?”
Decidedly not wanting to meet his host’s eyes finally Jack asks quietly and respectfully “Who are you?”

He was met by silent; instead, his host seems to deliberately move closer to him.

After a few had moments had passed with some hesitation Jack asks, “Do I know you?”

His host finally spoke. Smiling a gentle smile the old gent draws nearer to Jack and responds, “Why Jack I’m a messenger.”

Confusion and doubt crossed Jack’s face. Gazing into his host’s face at close range, he asks with some doubt, “What kind of messenger?”

Again he draws even closer to Jack, “A messenger from God.”

Unsure what to say he whispered. “Mm-mmm and I am Saint Peter.”

His voice was quiet, “No you’re a man in trouble who lives in a world of hurt and distress.” Gazing at Jack he added, “Mind you Jack this not a world that He had in mind.” And then messenger said with all seriousness, “You live in the times of tribulation and suffering.”

Irritated Jack replied with a sharp tongue more then he intended to, “Yeah I know it’s not been my day for a long time.” Then jokily he added, “Why aren’t you wearing black clothes like Nichols Cage wore in the old twenty century movie, City of Angels?” After he had mouthed his mouth he realized his questions were not too bright and not very clever.

The messenger flinched. Jack had said the wrong thing. It was the messenger turn to become irritated.
He started to apologize but before he could his host waved his hand and then put his finger to his mouth telling Jack to be silence.

Briefly his host scowled staring Jack in the eye and then he said “It’s not my style.” Seemly his good humor had return and then he grinned. Still grinning he added by saying giving out a chuckle, “Nor do I have wings.”
Concern crossed the face of the messenger instantaneously he became serious and with care said, “Please listen to me.” With a long pause he went on, “Jack you’re in serious trouble and your friend that you carry you will not be able to help you if you don’t pay attention to my message.”

Anxiety filled Jack’s body. Nodding his head that he understood Jack kept his silence and listen. Awkward silence filled the room momentary.

Frowning and with another long pause to make sure Jack was listening to his message his host continued, “Whatever you think or do, don’t leave this sanctuary until tomorrow evening at this very same time. Don’t even go out even for a breath of fresh air. Stay put or you and your friend will never see the daylight of a new day. And I mean never!” Seriousness showed on the messenger’s face and then he went on, “Jack you will meet only misfortune and suffering beyond anyone’s imagination if you leave before the appointed time He has given you.”

He went on as if he’s the teacher and Jack was the child, “God knows you’re angry about the destruction of the world nevertheless I want you to know God has laid His hands on you.” The he shook his head in sort of disbelieve as he looked at Jack squarely in the eye. Suddenly sadness appeared in Jack’s host eyes and then one tear flowed down his face. Briefly the messenger wiped away his one tear. Jack glanced at the messenger and noticed immediately that compassion and concern shown on his face.

His host can see by the look on Jack’s face that he feels only rejected and discarded how his life had turned out. He lays his right hand Jack’s shoulder above his heart feeling the warmth and tenderness of his touch. Gently by his touch he reconfirms he’s is indeed a messenger from God.

Frowning Jack had suppressed his true thoughts and emotions since that horrible day when civilization had collapsed and crumpled into obscene failure. Now the world was full of misery and an extremely dangerous place to live. Whenever he remembered that day he realized he hadn’t grown old while others died as if it was yesterday. Jack had sworn profanities and shook his fist towards to the heavens above and become conscious when the years had passed Jack recognized he couldn’t change what was. All those long years he carried some much resentfulness and anger until it had became unbearable. Like a jab in his stomach he become conscious the world now was bizarre and full of the unexplained. And then there was the mark that he carried. Especially the mark, was he blessed or cursed? As hard as it was, since that day he realized the world had changed he accepted what he was; he accepted what had been unbearable to be bearable. The world was a place of nasty surprises.

Smiling a relaxed easy going smile the messenger goes on to say, “Now Jack please eat the dinner I prepared for you,” then almost magical he handed him a plate, cup and fork. Then he lifts his hand in sort of a half wave as he smiles at Jack.

Jack begins eating and after two or three mouth full of the warm delicious food he turned to thank his host for his kindness but his host is gone. It seemed he vanished into thin air. A quizzical look appeared Jack’s face. Jack glances around the warm room to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He could only speculate of the unexplained. Reluctantly with nothing else to do he continued his warm meal his host had prepared. Besides he was famished.

Abruptly a swift storm hit in full force. The wind drove the rain in sheets towards outside the protection of the covered long forgotten building. Jack knew from long years of experience the full force of the outside wind would do its best knock him off his feet. Every step would be a struggle. Instantly the lighting lit up the night skies and skipped from point to point with the roar of the thunder almost breaking his ear drums. Feeling the force of the thunderous storm surrounding him as it is unleashed by nature he was thankful for his safe refuge.

At times it almost felt as if the earth shook from the all elements of an unforgiving and vindictive Mother Nature.

He allowed himself a happy shake of his head knowing he was safe and dry in the warm shelter provided by his host, the messenger. He let his words out slowly, as he watched the raging storm. Jack could have been experiencing physical in saying them as he said the “Lord’s Prayer.” Followed by a long silent moment and then he laughed from relief.

Jack eyes became heavy from a full stomach and the warmth from the camp fire. Stretching and extending his arms above his head he gave out a big yawn. His stomach was comfortable and peaceful.

Jack awoke with a start. The wind had died down for a moment, and something was moving outside his shelter. He was a man who kept watch for dangers; he was met by silent. Tense with foreboding Jack wondered, had he only imagined the sound? He could not be sure. Jack pulled his heavy bearskin traveling robe over his head and huddled within it. The storm raged; he was certain of that. The unmistakable taint of ice was in the air. He breathed it in and recognized the presence that had roused him from an untroubled peaceful sleep.

He tried to comfort himself, but his thoughts were burdensome. He remembered his chance encounter with the messenger of God earlier that night. Or was it by chance he wondered? He continued to ponder the meaning of message he was given. He knew he couldn’t make a snap decision. He caught his breath once again and sought sleep.

The cloud cover briefly thinned and parted. This was place where peace dwelled and had no sorrow. Standing next to promising creek bed, in the distance he gazed upon a man walking towards him. Doing his best to think, he walked to meet the approaching man. He was not afraid! He craned his neck so he might see all around him. The bright sunlight made the distance hills seem to be made of gold and the blue sky above was crystal clear. He readjusted his stride to meet the oncoming man. Drawing closer Jack gave notice to the approaching man; he was a man of peace who was dress in a well dog-eared robe with leather sandals covering his feet. He was not a vain man. The approaching man held firmly in his left hand a shepherd staff and his foot steps was firm with a strong stride; sweat covered his face and his eyes were warm and pleasant. Following behind the approaching man was a collection of sheep. Some stopped to graze on dry grass but somehow kept up the flock. There was calmness in the air and Jack felt overjoyed as the shepherd approached even closer.

Tranquility seemed to follow this man. Jack knew this man was made of peace and love. Suddenly a flash of bright sunlight blinded Jack and with a jolt he awoke to reality of his world.

Dazed Jack lay on his make shift bed on the bare concrete floor. Shivering not from the cold of the wet morning or the damp floor but from what he had dreamt, he was driven by unquestionable curiously. “How can this be?” he wondered. Jack quivered not from the morning chill but from his meeting God’s messenger and then his dream. The unspoken words and the experience of his dream came to him. His heart was beating hard and fast. A terrible dread was building in him, but he could not completely say why.

“Where’s God’s plan? How can God allow this? How can these ungodly creatures that dwelled upon the land possibly be the work of the same God who created the whispering beauty of the lofty redwoods, the intricacies of the honeybee or inspiring labors of the common ants?” He asks himself. “How can I serve God’s plan if I
cannot understand it?”

“No, these are not God’s creatures. And if they are not God’s creatures, then the true author of them must be the terrible dark lord of flies.” Jack reasoned to himself. He stopped then, seemly exhausted by the impact of his own revelation. Slowly, slowly, he raised his eyes to the heavens above. His answer was simple Jack simply did not understand.

Rising from the cracked concrete floor and he stirred the coals in the camp fire. He becomes aware that somehow he had missed some potatoes and corn from last night’s meal. Or had he? His reached for the still warm food and without pause he ate right away. For a short time Jack looked outside to the argumentative sounds of ravens making startled cries. Turning his gaze back; moving suspiciously and cautiously he began to search his shelter. His search began in a room what had been once a snack bar for hungry travelers he caught his breath to find fresh remains of a half-eaten man. The room stank of urine and death. Now left was flesh and blood, hair and bone. He moved forward, knelt, and then reached a tentatively questing hand toward the half-eaten corpse of a man. Knowing it was unpleasant task he decided he’d bury the remains before he moved out in the evening.

Consciously he continued his search of the once up on a time was a modern shiny up-to-date Shell gasoline station. But now the luster was gone. Finding nothing of value he returned to his place near the cold camp fire and like any worn-out traveler Jack was fast asleep.

After a much needed rest he was itching to go however Jack knew deep within that only trouble and sorrow lay ahead should he leave before the appointed time he had been given.

Head high, he moved past of the remains of the camp fire. Soon it’d be time to leave and resume his travels. His jaw clenched it was time to bury the remains of a half-eaten man. He dug a hollow hole the best he could near where the body lay. After the shallow grave was dug Jack pushed the body into open hole and then covered it with his hands pushing broken bits of concrete and dirt. Jack lowers his head and said a small prayer for the man. A terrible wave of inadequacy washed through him. He remembered all the people who had died still he lived.

From long years of awareness he knew the creature whose home he stayed would pick up his scent and probably follow him. And more in likely the beast was a predator and Jack would be his next prey. Jack mouth tightens as he forced himself to think about that particular situation. It was predictable. Then, mindful of the time he began ready for his leaving his shelter. He scooped up his backpack cleared his throat, stood as straight as he could and then stepped outside in the darkness. He started back on his track.
Primeval animals and human illiteracy owned the world.

It was dark. Even the stars above barely shone, faint as diamonds in blackness of night. A great darkness lay in the distant horizon. By: Mr. Chuckchuck