Expired
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This is a standalone short story with no other chapters. Enjoy! Don't forget to check back regularly!
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It's the end of the world, but he's got one more interview to conduct before heading back to his home planet. How did these silly humans manage to master self-annihilation? The answer's bound to give him quite the doctoral dissertation. EXPIRED Through the window, I saw the meter trickle down to zero, the numbers finally replaced by a flashing EXPIRED notice. I smiled to myself; a silly little thing, but I had remembered reading about this funny bit of human culture before arriving. Currency, a fascinating means of measuring and managing the input and expenditures of individual members of their society. I pushed aside the empty nacho tub, still sticky with an undefined dairy product (an extraordinarily delicious invention, if not a life-threatening one), and grabbed the small pouch of coins on the seat beside me. After stepping out of the car, as they called it, I began feeding the little meter with my collection of copper-nickel alloy discs. Each coin pushed the digits higher and higher until the machine finally started rejecting my contributions. “Coins,” I giggled softly to myself. “Love it.” Having accomplished that little side quest, I grabbed the plank of hydrocarbon-based synthetic fibers strapped to the top of my car and made my way towards the ocean, fascinated by the patterns of light glinting across its surface. Their singular star was just beginning to touch the tops of the waves; it wouldn’t be long before darkness began spreading from the east. Then again, it wouldn’t be long before this planet ceased to exist anyways. No matter, though. My research was just about complete. There was only one person left I intended to talk to, and he was the last one on the waves, everyone else having already fled the flaming remnants of the once largest city on this continent’s coastline. His name was Brad, and in forty years he had never missed surf hour for anything, or so his digitally-kept social profile stated. True to his word, here he was, despite the lack of sufficiently strong waves. Also despite the cloud of radioactive dust inching slowly towards the coastline. I was by his side in four strokes; I found it adorable how hard humans try despite their considerable lack of strength. Honestly, I was surprised they’d even managed to destroy themselves so entirely. After smoothing the water from my hair, I sat myself upright and looked over at Brad. He was staring out at the setting sun, a smile hidden beneath his graying chest-length beard. “How about these ankle slappers?” I said, hoping my glossary of researched jargon held up. “Sure. Huntington was macking yesterday, though. Shoulda seen it.” I threw a small internal celebration at the successful banter, though I had no clue how to interpret his response. In any case, that was plenty of small talk. Time to get to business before the water started boiling into oblivion. “I’m surprised there’s anyone out here,” I probed. “Thought everyone headed for the hills after yesterday.” Brad shrugged, maintaining his gaze on the horizon. “Everyone’s always been running around in a panic, even long before the bomb. No one ever takes the time to just pause and appreciate the small things.” I had to admit, I admired his frame of mind. It was one I liked to think I’d managed to successfully curate over my centuries of life. Though, in all fairness, I’d be porting up to my ship in orbit without delay as soon as our interview was over. “You don’t seem worried. I’m surprised.” Brad dismissed me with a gentle wave of his hand. “It was bound to happen eventually. What with the world the way it is. I’m actually impressed this didn’t happen ages ago.” “Why’s that?” “Well,” he says, turning to face me, “I don’t suppose anyone ever takes the time to actually pause and see someone else’s point of view anymore. Much easier to just make them disappear. No more opponent, no more opposing viewpoint.” I laughed. “That is true, I suppose.” It’s so barbaric that I had to find humor in it, despite the grim scenes of destruction behind me. My people had been much like these humans thousands of years ago. Primitive, destructive, self-centered. Still, we had managed to figure ourselves out, long before we gained the means to self-annihilation. “How did you—” I stopped myself, catching my near slip of the tongue. “How did we even get to this point, do you think?” “The end of the world, you mean?” I nodded, grateful he was catching on. Brad was making this a whole lot easier than I thought it would be. Maybe I didn't need to put the full four hours on the meter after all. “Well, it’s an addiction, isn’t it?” “Hmm?” “Us, humans. Society. The world. We’ve become so addicted to conflict, so thirsty for arguments that it doesn’t even matter what the topic is anymore, just so long as there’s someone to oppose it. Even for something as simple as changing lanes.” Ah indeed. Traffic, they called it. The pinnacle of domestic human aggression. “I guess it just finally caught up with us, all the unchecked anger for every reason and no reason at all.” I nodded, but my brows were furrowed. This was always such a confusing point for me. The concept of duality and opposition. On and off. Right and wrong. Humans always seemed to boil everything down to some kind of binary. No room for diverse thought, for independent discourse. Why did they always think complex issues could be boiled down to only two points of view? And that one of those points of view was somehow correct in its entirety? Perhaps they weren't evolved enough to handle more than that? “So, what you're saying is that everyone either sees a person as on their side or against them?” “Not everyone.” Brad's smile returned, and he looked once more at the quickly fading line that divided the ocean from the heavens. “I've always believed that a person's got some reason for thinking the way they do. Why should their reason be any more valid than mine?” He said it as if he were stating some profound nugget of wisdom. Maybe it was just the culture gap, but his supposedly deep thoughts were nothing more than essential tenets of unspoken culture on my world. Like how these particular humans believed in the unalienable right to life and liberty. Though, following recent events, I'm not sure how much they actually believed in that. “True.” I looked behind me at the cloud sneaking up on us. I probably only had minutes left. “Who's to blame then? Surely it couldn't have been the whole of humanity that brought us here, considering there are people who think like you?” Brad ran his fingers through his beard, straightening the tangled waves of salt and pepper. “Perhaps,” he said, unconvinced. “But there were those that instigated, and there were those that stood by and allowed it to happen. Those who didn't pick a side were forced to choose, until soon we couldn't see more than one argument ahead of our noses. It's just our nature. We ignore the universes of diverse thought that exist within each and every one of us, trivializing someone's entire existence by dumping them into a bucket, usually one of two. Either you're with us, or you're with them.” The hair on the back of my ears began to vibrate, sending my defensive instincts into overdrive (yes, that's a thing with my species). It was time to wrap things up. “Well, Brad, it's been lovely chatting, but I think my wave is coming up.” “Wait, how do you know my n—” “I truly wish we had gotten the chance to meet a while ago, but that's the sad nature of studying planetary apocalypses I'm afraid. I only get to see the end.” Brad looked thoroughly confused at this point, but it was fine. I'd return to my ship. He'd get one last macking wave (hope I used that one right?) Then the oceans would vaporize and that would be the end. This had been a fun species, though. Such a short existence, but rich. If only they had taken a second to pause and enjoy the sunset, much like Brad here. But they didn't, and now there would be no more humans, no more parking meters, no more weapons of self annihilation. But hey. Nachos were nice while they lasted. |