Fiction: Last Night on Earth

[jayeless_archive]

You can consider this a Halloween treat if you like, provided you're decked out in costume! If not, well... consider it just another post. I don't know, seriously, consider it however you want.

Sooo I wrote this in August, and then never posted it. In case you don't remember the ~historical background~ to this product of August, there was a federal election here, and this federal election was preceded by an election campaign. One of the big issues of the campaign was refugees, and in particular, the two major parties were competing with each other to see who could produce the most disgusting policy with the most outrageous deprivations of human rights.

I think what I wrote reflects my frustration with this. It can also be considered a response to one of the February prompts at dailyprompt, "last night on earth" (where the title comes from).

Last Night on Earth

An endless expanse of still black water in the night, glittering with the reflection of the moon like something from a distant dream. Extending forever and ever across the Earth, a quiet threat to the pinpricks across its surface. Small people floating, fearing, dreading the snap, the change, the storm. Helpless to its whims, vulnerable to its rages, and doomed. So doomed.

He hadn’t been aware of much for weeks. Hunched over the side of the boat, gripping the rough wood, eyes wide and boggling at the endless black below. Such sickness gripped him as never felt before. He couldn’t move. The pain inside, the ache left from trying to expel his very stomach through his mouth. Every movement, every shift, wrenched it again from his insides. The taste of vomit, the burning acid inside his throat, tears in his eyes, salt on his cheeks, gagging and building pressure inside his head. He knew nothing, felt nothing but this.

They’d been adrift for weeks, and the end drew ever nearer. He felt it in his guts, a sickness on another plane to this. The sickness of impending death. Hours… minutes… seconds… who knew. Who cared. Death would come and it would be freedom. Minutes of pain followed by an eternity of bliss. What did it matter any more?

No food. No water. No fuel. Lost, lost to the world, lost to all but the vast ocean below. He felt gazing into its depths was gazing into the eyes of an ancient spirit, pacing, taking its time before moving in for the kill. But that was all right. He could wait.

A girl cried softly in the corner of the boat. The only sound to penetrate the silence of the sea. He wanted to reach out to her and calm her, tell her it was all okay and life’s end was a blessing. But she was only a child, and how could she understand? To her have future, her entire life, ripped away from her like the skin off her face. She’d had hope for a better life, just like they all had. She was desperate not to lose that hope.

It was painful for him to think of too, the multitudes of options and possibilities that could have been his future. He banished the thought from his mind as soon as it entered it; it was too late, and there was no point thinking of it. He stared harder into the blackness of the sea, wishing it would rise up then and swallow him, putting an end to this. But for now, it stayed calm.

The boat rocked a little, bobbing up and down on the surface of the ocean. Something wrenched apart inside him, searing pain in his gut as he tried again to vomit. He could take little more of this. He closed his eyes, mouth open, salty sea air scraping his throat’s insides. Little longer, little more. The boat rocked again and he knew what it boded. The end lay on the horizon. Storm clouds.

Awareness of the future’s plans charged the air with fear. Anticipation? Foreboding? Menace? The ocean changed its tune, from ancient watchman to murderous horde. Rocked the boat again and again, pushing it further, further. Closer to the edge. Over the cliff.

His guts twisted so tight within him he could hardly breathe. Eyes wrenched shut, gasping for air. Crying, he heard the crying, the waves of bloodthirsty tide. He knew it was here. The taste of failure was the salt water on his face. The end of all their dreams, the end. The end of all their lives, the end.

Each knock to the boat, a blow to them all. Crying ever louder, waves ever harsher. Gripping unsanded wood so tight it gave him cuts. Did it matter?

Playing with its prey, the ocean tossed her first, tossed the girl. He couldn’t see, could see nothing, but heard. Her screaming, splashing. Her final words. Help me, help me.

But the sea snuffed her out quickly.

He no longer knew whether the salt on his cheeks were tears or water. Tossed, thrown about like a tightly wound spring in a violent salad. He heard nothing now above the roar of the sea. Thrown into the jaw of the lion. No point resisting now. It was destiny. He prised his hands open, and waited.

The ocean swooped, tossed him into its gaping mouth like the broken man he was. He yelped, and no more. The water was cold, so cold, the cold of a thousand knives of ice piercing all his skin at once. Rush of something raced through his blood, rush of fear, rush of pain, rush of things indistinguishable now at the point of death. A wave crashed over, ice water crushing his face beneath its iron boot. Choked, gagged. Ice, pain. Cold so deep it burnt his skin, water so thick, so thick. Without struggle he sank into its depths. He didn’t open his eyes to see the darkness, not wanting to see the vastness of his grave. Not wanting to know. He was lost, lost in the world, lost to the world, lost but to the all-knowing ocean.

This was the end. End of the line, end of the journey, end of him.

 

“I think our policy is humane,” she said, standing on a sunny street corner. “Did you know that these people pay to cross the ocean? This is not behaviour we should encourage. I think we would be failing in our responsibilities to these people if we allowed them to land on our shores. What message would that send? That all people have to do is board these horrific boats, sink them, and receive free passage to our country? No, I think we can agree that that is a dreadful message to send. There is a place for refugees in this country, we’re agreed on that, but not those refugees.”