apocalypticbob: (Default)
All I could hear were the numbers counting down and my pulse pounding in my head.




The countdown, so incredibly slow, and yet knowing that they measured my last moments here, I wanted to make them last forever. I didn't have anything special to leave behind, really. No family to speak of. No close friends. Still, as the seconds ticked by, all I could think about were the things I'd never done. I'd never made it to Mt. Rushmore, and in the moment that seemed incredibly important. How could I have so capriciously given up the chance to have another random tourist snap a picture of me appearing to pick George Washington's nose?




My respirations came a little faster as my mind flooded with second thoughts, third thoughts. What good is making history if you've left no one to reap the benefits? I knew the benefits to others, but in my suddenly selfish mind that seemed insignificant. My heart pounded against my jumpsuit. I knew my name would be as famous as those who had gone before me, who had tread where others only dreamed.




What if something went wrong? What if it was all in vain? My mind quickly replayed the disasters I'd been briefed on before I'd been allowed to sign the release. The names and faces flitted through my mind, but I quelched the thoughts as quickly as possible. The loss to science, to mankind, would be far more of a tragedy than the loss of my meager life. I was terrified. I was excited. I was ready.


Go for launch.

Half an hour later, and my slow suicide has begun. You see, I've volunteered for the first manned mission to Saturn. I should reach the ringed planet in around seven years, as I'm following the same route as the Cassini orbiter. I know that I will never again set foot on the planet we call Earth. I shall orbit the sixth planet for the remainder of my days, collecting, recording, and sending back data until I or the equipment fail, and my name will be in history books and on the lips of school children. What is one small life in the face of science, of progress?

It's too late to turn back now.
apocalypticbob: (Default)

The first thing I saw when my eyes flew open were the luminescent numbers floating in front of my face.

At first, I didn't know what it was that has woken me, and by the time I figured it out, it was already too late.

Too late, because they were in.

Bile and a scream fought for purchase in my already narrowed throat, allowing only a gurgle to escape. It doesn't matter. They knew where I was. They knew before they pulled into my driveway in their low, black cars. I lay there, paralyzed with fear, waiting for the inevitable footsteps on the stairs. It's funny, you know, how your senses can be so heightened. I would have sworn I could hear heartbeats from next door, so keenly was I straining my ears. Finally, painfully, the creak of the third stair from the bottom.

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. I wouldn't know about that. I know mine flashed before mine as I waited for them to traverse the short hall at the top of the stairs. It wasn't much of a life. Lots in it I wasn't proud of, but it was mine, and I wasn't too eager to have it end. I saw the hotel room where my marriage had ended. I saw the birth of Jessica. I saw Keith standing at the end of the aisle of the First Baptist Church. I saw the headlines of the newspapers that told of the shame of steroids, always with a picture of me on the Olympic podium next to them. Running...running wasn't an option. I had run before. I had run until my feet bled and running had gotten me nothing but pain. Running was what had gotten me into this mess to begin with. My speed was what they were after.

The door knob turned. So many of them. They streamed into the room. I was pinned before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth.

"We have Jessica."

No more needed to be said.

In and out in sixty seconds. That is the plan. In and out. Meet up at the rendezvous, and await further instructions. In and out. Jessica will be fine. Use my car. Less suspicious.

In and out.

I hope they are right about the rain.
apocalypticbob: (Default)
The rain falling gently to the ground matched my mood this morning. It also contributed to the situation that I have found myself in this evening. It seemed like a good omen, at first. The rain was a crucial part of the plan, necessary to help obscure details during the heist. The plan went off without a hitch...in and out of the bank in less than sixty seconds. The money in hand, I easily made it to the getaway car, slipping only once on the oily, rain slicked asphalt. The drizzle was just heavy enough to make it difficult for passerbys to see the numbers on my strategically mud smeared license plate, and wet hair hanging down in curtains by my face helped me blend in. Unfortunately, the rain that was intended to be my saving grace created a huge problem. To be fair, I was distraced by the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, but I'm almost certain I would have seen the woman crossing the street in front of me if it hadn't been raining, and I know I would have been able to stop if the rain following the five month drought hadn't caused a heavy sheen of oil to rise from the road, destroying all semblance of traction. Of course, I saw the flashing lights stop to render aid as I sped off, but the crushed bumper and smears of gore across my hood made my car fairly obvious. I got off the main roads as quickly as I could, but I'm not at all sure that my escape was nearly as clean as it should have been. Just not good enough. I watched the rain fade the blood to pink, watched the windshield wipers push the grey matter off of my Blazer. I'm glad I thought to throw my laptop into the back of the car before I began all of this, or I would never be able to let you know what had happened to me.

Oh. I see red & blue flashing lights. This does not bode well for me. Catch you folks on the flip side.


apocalypticbob: (Default)

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