Confronted with thoughts he was in no way comfortable having, he asked, "Where am I?" Was he actually hearing them? The voice was most definitely female – her voice – but was it in his mind or was it actually spoken aloud? Just the presence of the words took him aback. "How long are you going to wait?" Her familiar lilt seemed both amused and eager. Why was he still alive? Was he even still alive? Now, all he was absolutely sure of was the blackness and a vaguely antiseptic smell. The terrible force he remembered on his body had passed, along with the deafening sound. It wasn’t immediately apparent to him if he even still had a body, outside of his conscious awareness. Looking down, or what he guessed must be down, he couldn’t tell if his body was damaged. It occurred to him that he shouldn’t be alive. Funny, he thought now, how sometimes we’re attracted to the mysterious and dangerous as though we have no self-preservation instinct.Īll of these things bounced around in his head like a pinball as he floated in the darkness. She never told him her name, but he’d felt drawn to her nonetheless.
She was slight and lovely, smelling lightly of vanilla - exquisitely charming for a destroyer of worlds. Her dirty blonde hair framed her face like wild vines. He stopped, gaze locked on her, packing his cigarettes for a small eternity before approaching her. She was sitting on the hood of his faded blue and rust Detroit relic when he came out of the gas station. In fact, nothing had brought the creative sparkle out in his dull blue eyes for almost fifteen years. He had long ago given up on his dreams of being the next big discovery in the art world. Floating on the edge of society suited him well as he rotted in his personal failures. Yesterday morning, David Adams had been just another out of work housepainter doing odd jobs around his small hometown for enough money to keep his electricity on.
An hour ago there was life for better or worse there was a "civilization." People laughed, cried, slept, and loved. There was a planet revolving around a star people called the sun. There was nothing now, only a dark, vast absence. LIKE ALMOST EVERY TRULY HORRIBLE thing that has ever happened in the history of our world, the end also began with a kiss. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Previously published as Destroyer of Worlds,
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