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Apocalypse later - I love the
smell of burnt toast in the morning Boomph. Boomph. Badda badda badda badda badda badda badda. Boomph. And so on. If variety is the spice of life, thought Scully, then dance music is a glass of water. Pleased with this metaphor, he broke from his misery and cracked a small yet tangible glimmer of what may have been a smile. No-one else noticed, they were too busy dancing to the incessant repetition spewing forth from the "super mega-bass" unit. Dan'cing v.i. 1)To be moving with measured rhythmic steps, usually to music, 2)To be throwing oneself around like a complete arsehole, whilst under the influence of several units of alcohol, usually to repetitive bass tones masquerading as music. As he looked around the room in which he had found himself, Will Scully was disturbed to see that of all the people there, he could see only one familiar face. And that was only because of the large mirror above the fireplace. Throwing his body into an unoccupied armchair, he replayed in his mind the events that had conspired to drag him here on tonight, of all nights. But that was it wasn't it? It was only because of the date that he had left his own bed behind to enter a party full of strangers. Or rather because of the date, and his desire to become acquainted with his new neighbours. Well, hardly new really, he had been living on this road for more than two months now, although he had been too busy renovating his home to bother with meeting the other occupants of his road. There was also the matter of the bizarre encounter on his first night. Now that certainly had left him quite shaken, despite the amicable nature of his guest, and he was sure that he could look forward to expensive therapy bills at some time later in his life. Lost in the dream inspired by his memory of that night, he failed to notice the couple approaching him until the man clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. "Evening mate, you havin' a good time yet? Fuckin' hell you look like shit mate, you should be havin' fun tonight." The man was burly, although he seemed to be nice enough. Scully recognised him as Tony Hallows, the owner of the house and the one who had invited him to the party at which he was currently sitting. Tony Hallows. The big man had scared the holy crap out of Scully on their first encounter, on the second day of his accommodation. When the bell rang, properly too, Scully had opened his door to be confronted by what can only be described as a man who shits in the woods. Still shaken from his evening earlier, he had almost passed out from the shock of the behemothal man on his doorstep. It turned out that he was in fact a pleasant man who was friends with the entire road, and had called on the "new arrival" before even his next-door neighbours had. Will found it amusing that he should be the first, as he lived at almost the other end of the road. Anyway, Tony had invited him to what he had described as "The best fuckin' party ever", and Will wasn't exactly in the mood to offer any sort of resistance, besides which the whole road was going, and so it would be a chance to meet everyone. Or so he thought. "So what's the matter wiv you tonight then Skull? Why you lookin' so unhappy?" the bearman continued. "I don't really know, I've just got a bad feeling that's all." An all-too familiar feeling as well, he thought, same as when I moved in... "Aww bollocks, you just need to get pissed up an' you'll feel fine." There was a certain endearing optimism behind his profanity. "'ere, this is me wife Carol, Carol this is Will, he just moved in down the road." An hour later Scully politely made a very good excuse and headed for the kitchen to find asylum, or at least beer. As he pushed his way through the ample crowd of total strangers he felt a cold shiver run through his body, as if someone had walked over his grave. He dismissed any such feelings, and headed for the guardian of his goal. Throwing the fridge door open he was confronted by quite the most enormous supply of alcoholic beverages that he had ever seen, so he felt no guilt in taking a can from its' resting place and tearing into it. This should help, he thought, if Tonys' wife tries to talk to me again, as he took a long draw from the can. Something made him stop, as he heard the doorbell ring. Not for the first time that night, true, but something deep inside made him put down his can and head for the front door. As he arrived he saw that Hallows had already opened the door, and was just about to welcome the man in with his customary hand-on-shoulder greeting. When Scully saw who was standing on the doorstep he broke into a run and shouted out. "Tony! Don't touch him, he's..." Too late. Although the time that elapsed between his frantic scream and the motion of Tonys' hand seemed to Scully to run ever so slightly slower than not at all, there was nothing that could be done to stop it. As Hallows lay his hand upon the mans' shoulder he turned a strange colour, and collapsed on the floor, dead. Scully ran up to the lank man looking down at Hallows' corpse, and stared at him. "Hello again." Said Death looking up from the macabre slump on the doorstep. "What the hell are you doing here?" Scully shouted at Death, "Look what you've done to Tony!" "Sorry, but I did tell him not too touch me. I think he may be intoxicated." There was no emotion in his voice. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, I have come here simply to tell everyone something quite important." "Doesn't matter?" he was angry, "What the hell do you mean it doesn't matter? He's dead!" "It doesn't matter," said Death "because in a few minutes everyone on your planet will be dead too." ---DRAMATIC INTERLUDE--- Scully stood aghast, staring at the familiar face of Death. "Wha...eh...how...what the fuck?" was all he could say. "I think," Death paused "that you might call it the end of the world as you know it. Which is strange, because if I'm not mistaken you appear to feel fine. Anyway, four horsemen of the apocalypse and all that. I'm one of them you know, very exclusive club too, didn't bring my horse though, but then you know all that of course." "So, we're all going to die then? And there's nothing we can do about it?" "Well, yes and no. Respectively." Death shrugged, "Anyway I'd better be off, there's plenty more people to tell before it happens." "Wait a minute, where are the other three horsemen?" It was the best thing he could think of to make Death stay. "Well," Death turned around, "Pestilence is doing Asia and Africa, War's doing Australia and all the Islands, and Famine is doing America, just for the irony. That was my idea." Death grinned "Anyway, must dash you know, not long left." "Hang on," Death revolved again, "are you sure there's nothing we can do to stop it?" "Oh no, you can stop it easily enough, but only if you happen to be the, er," Death turned and produced a shoulder bag that Scully was sure he had just created from nothing, "I just created this from nothing," Death said, "but I'm looking for, ah here it is." He produced an old and torn book from the bag, which promptly disappeared again. "This is the tome of the prophesies, it's actually timeless, but it was made to look like this for the effect. It is said that it was crafted by the hands of God himself. Somewhere in here it tells you how to stop the end of the world, but I could never be bothered to read it. Although actually I'd rather it didn't happen, I'm rushed off my feet as it is with all the flu that's around." Scully could do nothing but stand and stare at this strange scene that he had yet again been confronted with. "Ah here it is, you have to be the, er, "Stoatmaster", oh dear who wrote this?" Death shook his head, "anyway, there's a picture of him here..." Death fell silent. "What, what is it?" Scully was understandably anxious. "Oh my, how ironic," Death looked from Will to the book and back several times, "now what are the chances of that happening? How fate plays with us all eh?" Realisation was sinking into Scully's brain like a Yak sinks into quicksand which, despite its' best attempts to fashion a crude but sturdy winch-like device from nearby vines and its' own horns, is unable to prevent its' slow but certain descent. "No, not me surely?" was all he could say. "Well, in a way I suppose." Death broke into a grin as he turned the book around for Will to see. "If you looked like this you would be able to prevent the apocalypse by performing certain tasks set out in this book. If you looked exactly like this of course." When Scully saw the picture he knew what he had to do. It may be a shitty little world, he thought, but it's my shitty little world. "What tasks do I have to do?" "Get changed, then come with me, I'll just pause time for a while so the world doesn't end while we're doing this stuff," Death waved his hands about, and was enveloped in a cloud of purple smoke. Then it all stopped, and Scully could hear no sound from the party, and when he looked at Death there was a content look on his face. "I don't have to do the pyrotechnics, but they look good don't they?" ---OOO--- And so they went into the land of the horsemen, Death leading had changed back to his traditional black cloak, and Scully was clad in the finest black dress and blonde wig that Death could create. Why he had to perform the world-saving tasks in drag, neither Death nor the other horsemen knew, only that this was how it had been written in the tome, so this was how it must be done. In tow were the three other horsemen, who had no real part to play in the ceremonies, but wanted to tag along nonetheless. Whoever designed these guys thought Scully must have had a sense of humour. Famine was a man unlike any human, although the shape was humanesque, he was quite the most obese gentleman that Scully had ever seen. He and War walked several paces behind Death and Scully, War being an agressive looking man that Scully overheard saying "You see the trouble is that everyone's got the wrong idea about me. I blame my PR people to be honest, you were right Famine, it pays to get a more expensive company to market your skills to the public..." Walking many paces behind them all was a grimy, tall and thin man whom Scully deduced must smell somewhat unpleasant, and therefore would be Pestilence. Not that he'd got close enough to find out, but judging by the cloud of flies and the fact that the other horsemen avoided him too, when they couldn't even smell, he had made this assumption. "The land through which we are walking," Death had said, "is the domain of not only the horsemen, but many dead souls who have yet to find somewhere else to go. It is inhabited by unwanted souls who are generally disregarded by everyone else as being unpleasant and generally repugnant. Ironically, it seems, this land was named France. Funny old underworld, isn't it?" The land itself was a place like no other, a flat planar world with the occasional dwelling or feature that was reminiscent of the drawings by Escher. What puzzled Scully was the way that any structures didn't seem to adhere to the rules of gravity, possibility or sanity. Where there were no buildings, if they could be called that, the ground was black and twisted, and sharp dark plants that appeared to be dead sprouted up from the ashen ground. "Mmm," commented Scully, "very gothic" "Yes," replied War, "I designed this seasons' look in the gothic style, just to be traditional. You see we change the look of the place every few piers, just to add a bit of variety. The trouble was that when these clowns had it their way," he gestured to the other horsemen, "the place looked so nice that no-one could believe that they were in France, they thought it was heaven. You have to give them what they expect don't you? They don't come to France expecting pleasant scenery and nice people you know." "But War," Death exclaimed "it's so depressing." "It's what people expect you soft sod. Anyway they have to want to leave don't they, the idea is for them to be nice here and work their way to heaven you know, not just hang around here on the sandy beaches or alpine slopes for the rest of eternity." "I suppose." So through France the party travelled, until eventually they arrived at their destination. Scullys' heart missed a beat when he saw what lay in front of him, in the land of darkness. Stretched ahead was a chasm as wide as could be seen, traversed only by a thin and highly rickety rope bridge. There was an old wooden sign in front of it that read "The chasm of DEATH! Abandon hope all ye who try to cross. Souvenir T-shirts available on other side." As he read the sign, Scully could almost hear an orchestral piece of music playing solemnly in the background. Looking over the edge Scully saw that the bottom was conspicuous in its' absence, and as his dress fluttered in the wind he knew that the world was doomed. "I can't do it, I hate heights, I'm sorry. And where is that music coming from?" Scully looked at Death as he held the book open, and as he turned saw that Pestilence was sitting on an uncomfortable looking rock, playing the violin. When he saw that he was being watched, he stopped playing and looked sheepishly at Scully. "I'm sorry," said Pestilence, "I do that a lot. But it does add to the atmosphere doesn't it?" "What? Sorry, what is it that you can't do?" Death turned from staring bemusedly at Pestilence and shot a puzzled look at Scully. Then he looked to the chasm, and grinned. "Oh no, don't worry, that's your task over there." He pointed over Scullys' shoulder, and as he turned he saw a small dining room table sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the middle of the black field. As uncomfortable, in fact, as a fluffy white kitten in a furnace. But with furniture. And fields. He turned back to Death with a question on his lips before Death said, "Your first task is this: You must open the jar of pickle of DEATH, on the table of DEATH over there." Death looked bemused, though not to the same extent as Scully. "That's what it says here." "Er, okay then, I think I can handle that." He made his way over to the table, and saw another signboard proclaiming that this was indeed the table of DEATH, and saw that there was indeed a large jar of pickle in the middle of it. The label of the jar read "The jar of pickle of DEATH". He picked it up, and although it was a strain, after the third push the lid twisted off. He turned to Death and shrugged. With task one complete, he stood up and turned to Death. "I think that does it, that was pretty weird though." "Oh dear," Death was still reading. He looked up at Scully, "I'm really sorry about this, but the next task..." ---OOO--- Big. Some things are described as such, but often they simply do the word injustice. Some might, for example, say that they are in "big trouble", when in fact the worst sort of punishment they can expect is the simple loss of a limb or two. Actually, come to think of it that is pretty big trouble, but you know what I mean. It's like when you see something and say "ooh, isn't that big?" (rhetorically, natch), in reference to something that isn't really big at all. At least, not when compared to what Scully saw. "Ooh, isn't that big?" rhetoricised Scully. "Yes it is," War replied, much to Deaths' annoyance, "but then we don't call it "the big thing" for nothing you know." ""Thing", that pretty much sums it up really." Scully said, "What is it?" "You can see it better from this angle." Death called over to the rest of the party, for he had skirted around the edge of the ashen monolith, and was busy examining it with studious intent. "And ignore him," he frowned at War, "he named it because he's too embarrassed by what it is, even though we all know damn well." "But I didn't put it here, it just kind of appeared after I redecorated." War hung his head in much the same way that a berated child may do. "Let me read out your next task," Death reaffirmed his role as leader of the four, "you have to, and I quote: "Climb the monumental Goats' phallus in the big black field." That's this thing here in case you were in any doubt." "Hmm, I think I may be beginning to lose my mind a little. I suppose I should just be glad it's not the goats' knob of DEATH." Scully was unsure of how to proceed. "Let me fill you in," Death broke the silence, "no point in going off half-cocked, so to speak." He failed to notice the childish smirks that had arisen on the faces of the others. "No-one knows where it came from, but it is suspected that it was accidentally created when the demi-gods made a bit of a cock-up. Anyway, according to this plaque at the base it was erected by..." Death tailed off as the rest of the ensemble collapsed in fits of spasmodic laughter. "Oh sod you all then, bunch of bloody children." A few minutes later Scully fastened the final strap of the harness that Death had created for him. He walked up to the big, black, stone-like creation, and prepared to climb. However, as he raised his spike-soled climbing shoe and dug it into the testicular mass at the base of the shaft, he felt the whole thing shake, and as it did he fell to the ground. He stared up, bemused, as the phallus shrunk, and fell limply to the ground. As it did so, one of the hillocks nearby moved, and turned towards Scully. The giant goats' head opened it's eyes and stared at him. "Mind my bollocks you little bastard." It said, then promptly turned over and returned to it's rockish state. It's genitals, however, had disappeared. "Oh well," said Death as he turned to Scully, "I guess that'll do it." "You'll probably be glad to hear this," said War unexpectedly, "but I think that qualifies as a success." "Thank you War, but I'll do the post-task banter if you don't mind." Death appeared to be getting slightly annoyed with his co-workers. "Anyway, only one task left for you to do, and it doesn't seem too bad. Yet." "Alright then, hit me with it." ---OOO--- Scully held the ice pack, that Death had created, to his right eye. Death walked next to him with his head lowered. The others, as usual, followed several paces behind. Scully took the pack away from his eye, and turned to Death. "I think, before you return to Earth, that you might want to refresh your memory on certain modern expressions. I can't believe you sometimes..." he was cut short when Death stopped unexpectedly next to a small, yet offensively dark hole in the ground. "What now?" Death looked back from the hole to Scully. "Ahh," he said, as he once again looked to the hole, "I think this is where you must do the final task." "What exactly is it that I have to do?" "Er, well it's a little bit tricky really, you might not want to do it." "I thought you said it was an easy one. What the hell do I have to do this time?" "When I said easy," Death avoided the question as easily as rabbits avoid headlights, "I was seeing it from my perspective. In retrospect I would suppose that this will be the least pleasant of the tasks for you." Scullys' patience was running thin, and he shot his best angry stare at Death. "Tell me, and I'll make up my own mind." Death looked puzzled, "Have you got something in your eye? Nevermind, the task, right, of course, er..." "Spit it out damn it!" Scullys' voice raised a few decibels, not to mention an octave or two. Death was quite taken aback. "Alright, you have to live in this hole." Scully stared. "For how long?" "Forever. See what I mean? Not too hot is it?" Well, Scully thought, if I don't then the world will end, and I'll have no-where to live anyway, so what the hell, at least I don't have to pay a mortgage. Suddenly there was a blinding flash, and when he opened his eyes Scully found that he and Death were now standing in what appeared to be a radio studio. The "On Air" light was illuminated, and in the sound-proof room next door Scully saw a familiar face. As the light extinguished, Dr. (of Music) John Peel stood up and opened the adjoining door. He walked over to where Scully and Death were standing, and addressed them both. Scully noticed that he was holding a half-eaten cheese and pickle sandwich. "Well done Will," said Dr. (of Music) John Peel to Scully, "your selfless thoughts in the end showed that you were willing to live in a hole for the good of humanity. Aside from that you've successfully accomplished all of the tasks that were set for you, so jolly good show. You put up quite a sterling effort, very much like I saw in Gandhi when I met him back in 1978. It was a good year for mushrooms you know, they haven't had such good crops since the potassium drought. Sorry, must get back to the point, you probably think that the tasks were a little, well, odd. And you're right I suppose, but for the life of me I couldn't open that pickle jar, and I do so enjoy a cheese and pickle (of DEATH) sandwich. I did try to do it myself but I just didn't have the strength, you know just because I'm omnipotent doesn't mean I'm all powerful. Well, obviously it does, but you know what I mean. As for that goat, well I can't have his giant penis ruining France now can I? The last task, well that was just a little test of character that I thought might be quite funny. And Death," Dr. (of Music) John Peel turned to Death, who looked just as confused as Scully, "you did well, although I do think that you were a little bit harsh on War. He was only trying to maintain the fearsome façade that legend has crafted for you all. You look confused," Scully was alternating his quizzical stare between Death and Dr. (of Music) John Peel, "I feel you should both know something..." ---OOO--- "Well, that was a bit of a cop out wasn't it?" Death turned to Scully without slowing his pace. "To be honest I was expecting a lot more from him, but I guess he could never really live up to all the hype. I think the problem is that no-one really knows what to expect, they look to him all their lives but don't know what to do when they finally meet him." "To think, all the people who worship him, how would they react if they knew how, well, normal he is?" "I know," Scully stopped walking for a second and stared Death in the face, "but you know, I've been listening to his show for years and I never knew he was God." "You know what though," Death also stopped, and turned to face Scully, "I'm a little bit annoyed really. All that we had to go through, I had my normal schedule completely disrupted, and in the end the world was never going to end at all." "You should worry, at least you could wear sensible clothes. My feet are going to take weeks to heal from the chafing that these heels gave. I suppose at least I know that I'm not cut out for the drag circuit. But what I really want to know is why didn't he just do the things himself? If he needed them done so badly you'd think he could leave the radio show for one day. It makes me feel a bit like his odd-job boy." "Could be worse," Death replied, "but the way I heard it he did it for the comedy value more than anything else. He has a bit of a twisted sense of humour really, for a deity." "At least someone thought it was funny." "Hmm," Death looked at his wrist, presumably at a watch that Scully was unable to see, "It's about time that I set everything back to normal, you know, how things were before this whole charade started. Not much sense leaving everyone frozen in time for ever." "You can do that?" Scully asked, but before he could get an answer, Death held his hand up to Scullys' face, and he was blinded by a flash of white light. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was in a familiar place, with a familiar sound filling his brain, and a familiar face only inches from his. It was the face of the man whose hand had, with its' descent to his shoulder, awoken him from his slumber. The man stared him in the face, then laughed coarsely and spoke to Scully. "Evenin' mate, you 'avin' a good time yet? Fuckin' 'ell you look like shit mate, you should be 'avin' fun tonight." Behind his words Scully could feel the bass more than he could hear it. Boomph. Boomph. Badda badda badda badda badda badda badda. |
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