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Sekah
Star
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2021
- Location
- Your mom's house.
When he came, it was already too late for us.
Taiga knew that, but fuck if he wanted to deal with the outcome. He guessed he was lucky. I mean, was this lucky? Comparatively speaking. Something had come from space—an unnatural object, traveling at a speed that was unnatural, and it had lit up the entire Earth with a message that scientists were clear about, and much of the public were tied up in ignoring. It wasn't coming. Of course the scientists were wrong. When the plan to blow up the asteroid or whatever it was (scientists were uncertain) failed spectacularly, the technology of blowing things up in space a new one indeed, the bleak messages had been uniform. Today, at some point, the asteroid would hit. You could see it in the sky at night, it was so close, and so huge. But half the country was reassured by politicians that Jesus would save them, that the commie libs were making things up. And the asteroid got closer.
It was when Neil Degrasse Tyson came on video and told the world goodbye, and that he was sorry science couldn't stop this, that Taiga finally succumbed to the panic. It was supposed to hit in the Red Sea, and was projected to turn the sea into steam and salt crystals. Taiga didn't show up to work. He'd been out on a bender, getting high and drunk and fucking anybody who wanted to. Half the world had gone to work today like it was nothing, and the other half was in the streets, praying, weeping, calling their mothers to say goodbye a final time. Taiga should call her too, but he wasn't ready to let go.
He wasn't done living yet. What a fucking bum deal.
He paused on a small pocket park by an intersection in New York City, a bottle of jay in one hand and so drunk he was swaying. He looked around and he saw people. A Muslim man who was exceptionally handsome had a prayer rug spread in the grass, and was going through his ritual, standing, kneeling, prostrating, in anxious cycles. Taiga thought of looking up a countdown of when apocalypse would hit, but he didn't want to see, so he avoided his phone, slumping down on a bench. A man walking by in a fucking pirate costume, of all things, leaned down and tapped his own bottle—Captain Morgan, Jesus Christ—against Taiga's. "Cheers, mate; don't worry, it's just media inflation of a minor problem," the man said. Taiga gave him a look that could peel paint. Media inflation his ass, he'd seen it at night growing bigger and bigger—he'd always watched the stars, it had just never terrified him before.
But if he tried to ward the idiot away with his glaring, it hadn't worked, so he ignored him to look at the big hottie over there—must be seven feet tall or there abouts, and easy on the eyes—feeding birds quietly in the corner, with a book in his lap Taiga recognized as the Quran. It was an old worn copy, and he wasn't reading it or anything, or praying like the devout boy over there. Just holding it in his lap and tossing bird feed out to the birds in the park, the strangest look upon his face. Another man was walking by in a rush, talking urgently on a phone, trying to find somebody named Hana. He was easy on the eyes, too; frankly, the pirate would be as well if he wasn't such a fucking prick. Taiga finally glanced at his phone. Fifteen minutes until it hit Earth's orbit. The man would never get to Hana in time, she was coming in by car from college but she'd never get in the city, and it sounded like she was still hours away.
Taiga watched the man crouch down, tears in his eyes, and say over and over into the phone, I love you, I love you. Taiga snorted, and knocked back the liquor. Hopefully he'd be numb when it hit. If he survived the initial impact he was going to kill himself. Better that then starve to death in a permanent winter. He didn't want to live like fucking Mad Max as the world's food stores ran out. Fuck that.
Taiga knew that, but fuck if he wanted to deal with the outcome. He guessed he was lucky. I mean, was this lucky? Comparatively speaking. Something had come from space—an unnatural object, traveling at a speed that was unnatural, and it had lit up the entire Earth with a message that scientists were clear about, and much of the public were tied up in ignoring. It wasn't coming. Of course the scientists were wrong. When the plan to blow up the asteroid or whatever it was (scientists were uncertain) failed spectacularly, the technology of blowing things up in space a new one indeed, the bleak messages had been uniform. Today, at some point, the asteroid would hit. You could see it in the sky at night, it was so close, and so huge. But half the country was reassured by politicians that Jesus would save them, that the commie libs were making things up. And the asteroid got closer.
It was when Neil Degrasse Tyson came on video and told the world goodbye, and that he was sorry science couldn't stop this, that Taiga finally succumbed to the panic. It was supposed to hit in the Red Sea, and was projected to turn the sea into steam and salt crystals. Taiga didn't show up to work. He'd been out on a bender, getting high and drunk and fucking anybody who wanted to. Half the world had gone to work today like it was nothing, and the other half was in the streets, praying, weeping, calling their mothers to say goodbye a final time. Taiga should call her too, but he wasn't ready to let go.
He wasn't done living yet. What a fucking bum deal.
He paused on a small pocket park by an intersection in New York City, a bottle of jay in one hand and so drunk he was swaying. He looked around and he saw people. A Muslim man who was exceptionally handsome had a prayer rug spread in the grass, and was going through his ritual, standing, kneeling, prostrating, in anxious cycles. Taiga thought of looking up a countdown of when apocalypse would hit, but he didn't want to see, so he avoided his phone, slumping down on a bench. A man walking by in a fucking pirate costume, of all things, leaned down and tapped his own bottle—Captain Morgan, Jesus Christ—against Taiga's. "Cheers, mate; don't worry, it's just media inflation of a minor problem," the man said. Taiga gave him a look that could peel paint. Media inflation his ass, he'd seen it at night growing bigger and bigger—he'd always watched the stars, it had just never terrified him before.
But if he tried to ward the idiot away with his glaring, it hadn't worked, so he ignored him to look at the big hottie over there—must be seven feet tall or there abouts, and easy on the eyes—feeding birds quietly in the corner, with a book in his lap Taiga recognized as the Quran. It was an old worn copy, and he wasn't reading it or anything, or praying like the devout boy over there. Just holding it in his lap and tossing bird feed out to the birds in the park, the strangest look upon his face. Another man was walking by in a rush, talking urgently on a phone, trying to find somebody named Hana. He was easy on the eyes, too; frankly, the pirate would be as well if he wasn't such a fucking prick. Taiga finally glanced at his phone. Fifteen minutes until it hit Earth's orbit. The man would never get to Hana in time, she was coming in by car from college but she'd never get in the city, and it sounded like she was still hours away.
Taiga watched the man crouch down, tears in his eyes, and say over and over into the phone, I love you, I love you. Taiga snorted, and knocked back the liquor. Hopefully he'd be numb when it hit. If he survived the initial impact he was going to kill himself. Better that then starve to death in a permanent winter. He didn't want to live like fucking Mad Max as the world's food stores ran out. Fuck that.