A Warning Too Late

   Clouds are weird!
   It was a fact that had many times entrapped Tommy Tigerson deep in thought. They could hold water, glow, race across the sky, block the sun from shining, and dissipate as quickly as they formed a variety of shapes on their errant journeys across the sky.
   They had no purpose at times it seemed, yet at others, they brought life giving water or the protection of shade from the summer's blazing heat. He twisted sideways more while remaining on his back so that he could get a different view of the clouds.
   "It's like magic don't you think Jim," he asked with excitement in his voice?
   "Yeah," replied Jim, "they really are amazing."
   They stared up into the sky for a long while in silence.
   Tommy's imagination was on fire as he painted his own world with the clouds.
   A looming tower sprouted from a field of cotton fluff, while a short distance away a chariot was pulled across the bright blue expanse nestled between two white mountains by turtles. A silhouette of a giant appeared atop one of the mountains, standing guard for a while as the chariot passed by, and then evaporated on the wind, becoming the smoke plume of a volcano.
   Day was just giving way to night when the warning roused him from his daydreaming.
   Tommy's world shattered around him like ice cracking away during the spring thaw. He bolted upright and looked at Jim, who's face resembled the clouds they had been watching.
   "Was that the first horn or the second," asked Tommy?
   "First... I think," replied Jim hesitantly.
   A moment later, a second horn blast rang out, long and shrill, echoing down the valley.
   "Oh man, no way," exclaimed Tommy as shock crept across his face.
   "That's not good," replied Jim, scanning the the valley and the sky all around them, "I don't see anything, do-"
   The shriek Jim let out made Tommy wet himself as his best friend disappeared from his side, up into the clouds above him. His own scream drowned out any thought other than the one that told him to RUN!
   His faculties didn't fully return to him until he had run halfway down the mountain path towards the village. His mind was fuzzy and his vision blurred by tears. He didn't remember leaving the mountain top where he wast posted to man the signal fire that was to be lit in warning to the other villages further down the valley.
   A dozen thoughts raced through his mind at once. Had he lit the fire? Did Jim really get carried off into the clouds? Did he really see what he thought he saw? If so, that meant they were real! They aren't real thought, they are just creatures of myth, used in stories to frighten little children. And young men it seems! Did anyone else see it? Is that what the warning horns were for, or was the village under attack?
   A quick glance over his shoulder as he splashed through the stream just before the village told him all he needed to know. There was no smoke plume coming from the mountain top. His heart sank into his stomach as the dereliction of duty mounted the already crushing failure and emotions that drove his foot falls one after the other as far away from what he had seen.
   Tommy crashed against the gate made from hewn logs at a full sprint, banging his fists upon it and screaming at the top of his lungs, wailing to be let in. He put his back to the gate and scanned the mountain path where he had come from, then the sky, looking for any sign of the beast he thought he had seen. Darkness threatened to claim him, creeping in from the edge of his vision as he began to hyperventilate. He kicked against the gate with his heel, pleading for someone to hurry. Fresh, hot tears bore a path down either side of his face as he screamed in rage at the mountain. He felt himself falling backwards, his body becoming weightless as darkness washed over his vision; The gate finally opened behind him. He didn't feel the ground come up to meet him as he passed out from sheer terror.

Darion the Defiant

   Nothing could have prepared them for it. Not the smell. Not the sounds. Especially not the sights. No, the things seen in battle could never be unseen. They visited them in their sleep, they appeared behind their eyelids every time they blinked shut. The screams echoed in their ears over and over, even when the ringing from the concussive blasts threatened to drown out all other sounds for the rest of their lives.
   Eternity stretched on as they hunkered down in their trenches and battle holes. Ditches dug into the farm lands that stretched for thousands of feet. Farmers who but a few short months ago were sowing seed into the fresh turned spring soil now dug like rabbits and fought like packs of rabid packs against an usurper unlike anything they had ever seen before. A man-- No, a monster of a man with no name that commanded an army of faceless savages larger than any other force that had dared to invade their lands before. The only thing worse than the savages were the robed and hooded figures that stood atop giant platforms with their hands folded together beneath over-sized sleeves as they overlooked the battlefield. The last mistake anyone could have made would be underestimating them based on how fragile they appeared. When their hands clapped together, a concussive blast rushed forth, shredding anything and everything that stood in its path.
   The first of the farmers-turned-soldiers over the the top of the trenches disintegrated and blew back over their companions as dust and ash would from a fire. They were not the first to die, nor would they be the last. The second wave of soldiers fared no better. The third wave, now in shock at the speed with which their friends and family members had been erased from this world, fell back into their trenches and wailed in defeat.
   Four lines behind them, one simple soul had not been paying attention to the demise of those who attempted to clear the way ahead of him, as he was lost in his blindness, praying to the heavens for deliverance from those that would wipe them from memory because they were caught in the middle of a feud that they neither cared about nor wanted any part of.
   Darion the Blind felt a tug at his heart, and his legs pulled him forward suddenly as the wails of agony washed over him. He crested the lip of the trench he had helped to cut out of the fields. Once out of the trench, he stood defiant, blade in one hand, walking cane in the other. He planted himself and raised his head to the sky he could not see and bellowed at the top of his lungs as he tamped his cane into the muck beside him.
   A ray of sunlight pierced the veil of shadowed clouds that hung low in the sky over the battlefield, casting its warmth upon the remaining farmers-turned-soldiers. Their wailing ceased, and a calming certainty filled them as Darion's call echoed out across the sundered fields. They began to poke their heads up above the safety of their trenches, and seeing Darion the Blind standing alone facing their enemy gave them the heart they so desperately needed in that moment.
   Darion's cry came to an end, and after a few breaths he leveled his gaze towards his unseen foe and bellowed one order that all his fellow men answered.
   "Scatter like the ash of our lost brethren, come upon them from all sides, and give no quarter!"
   Like locusts they swarmed up and over the trenches all at once in every direction, giving their enemy no point to focus on. Thunderclaps came and few turned to dust, but within moments every section of their lines were assaulted by hordes of defiant farmers filled with the rage that only those defending their homes could exude. With everything to lose, and no mercy to give, they fought the bloodiest and most savage battle their realm had every known. Many of them fell and were lost to naught but memory, but many more overcame the insurmountable odds.
   The robed men were not impervious to blade, spear, or pitch fork, and once encircled could not flee from their platforms. Their power was no less awful against a single man as it was against many, and they did their worst. Pillars of walking fire, bolts of lightning, and men turned to stone or salt all around their platforms as they faced their inevitable deaths.
   As the last of the platforms fell, a horn blared out as dusk crept in. The usurper had sounded retreat and with that call, fled alone into the south as his army was slain to the last faceless savage.
   On that day, Dorian became 'The Defiant', leader of the free men of the western plains where farmers became soldiers and an usurper's army became fertilizer for their lands.

On The Eve of Tomorrow

Another day has come,
And another will soon be spent.

With heavy minds and burdened hearts,
We lay ourselves down to rest.

To see the dreams and live tomorrow,
We shall forget all this sorrow.

Spend a moment and breath it in,
This is the beginning of something new.

Alas ye stay,
Near and dear yet far away.

Soon then,
We shall meet again.

On the eve of tomorrow.

Good Timing

   Sometimes the creative mind has a mind of its own and it ends up lining up with something relevant unexpectedly. This is one of those times. I scribble out a little Sci-Fi idea earlier this week, and not a day later, came across the Arizona State University 2016 Climate Fiction Short Story Contest. At first I had to check my web history to make sure I hadn't subconsciously skipped over it while scrolling through my various writing news feeds, emails, or social media, but to my delight, most certainly had not.
   I re-read what I had scribble down earlier in the week and decided that it was definitely on the right track already, and have started to run with it and see where it ends up. It's beautiful timing for the writing contest to pop-up, as I am currently looking for my next work adventure, and have free time to fill with writing and reading. It's double so as I wanted to more research on climate change for general knowledge anyways. I figure, if I'm going to be creating worlds that change with the ebb and flow, I should have a good understanding of how a world can change over time from a scientific perspective.
   So, today I sat down at my usual coffee shop office and got to work researching and expanding on the bit I had written already. Here's what I have so far:

Exodus Earth

   We thought we could escape all our problems if we could just reach the stars. Interstellar flight was the key to our future. It would bring us closer together as a whole; provide us with endless potential, and the brightest of futures.

   The first Generation Ship launched to a staccato of cheers and verbalized fears for the loved ones being lost to Earth forevermore. That was a hundred and sixty years ago. Twenty years later, Earth was entering the final stages of a massive climate change. A new ice age had begun to encase the equator to the dismay of scientists and theorists alike. They couldn't understand how they could have been so wrong about how the Earth works after so many centuries of constant study. To me, that's the beauty of life in this universe. For everything we think we know, there are ten things that surprise us.

   A massive exodus from Earth was inevitable. There simply wouldn't be enough space for the remaining populace to relocate to the polar circles and although the technology to build subterranean living shelters was advanced enough, no preparation had been made to counter nature's wrath.

   Of the nearly eight billion people that called Earth home, seven remained surface side. Best estimates for the remaining ships already built or being built in orbit, could house another five hundred million people. The Mars and Moon colonies could take another two hundred and fifty million each if they put all their efforts into expanding living and agriculture domes. That left nearly six billion souls to fight for survival as the remaining population attempted to cram as many as they could into the polar circles while maintaining adequate sustainable food, water, and waste management systems. To say it was ugly would be putting it in the most positive light possible.

   Over the next ten years, nearly half of the remaining Earthers died of exposure or in the fighting that broke out over who would get to live in the polar circles. Fanatical groups that were pro-apocalypse sprung up in ever increasing numbers and frequency. By the time the last seven generation ships were ready to leave orbit, only two billion people remained surface side. My grandparents were two of them, and they were the remaining leaders of the southern polar circle.

~*~

   Icy winds bucked and rocked the supply shuttled as it flew across the frozen tundra that was now mid-western Canada. An alert klaxon warned that the turbulence was at dangerous levels and a small display panel next to it indicated the new recommended safe flying altitude. Denton Weaver flipped the acknowledgement switch to register his confirmation of the warning with home base, and punched in the new altitude on his flight panel. The giant thruster engine located at the back of the shuttle above the cargo bay door ramp whined as it accelerated, and the polymetal frame protested slightly as the flight computer directed the vessel up to the new height.

   Denton leaned back into his cozy contoured pilot seat and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from his thermos into the lid. No matter how many times he made this supply run, he couldn’t get used to the extra chill that bit through the sidewalls of the shuttle when flying over the Ice Belt that now encased the entire equator of the planet. Steam rolled off the coffee in vivid dancing lines, and the smell of the brew was as fresh as if he had just brewed it a moment before. As he took a sip he flicked the heat dial to max with his other hand. The setting sun to the west was his only companion on this trip besides his emergency droid harnessed in its docking station inset in the hull ten feet behind him. It blazed through the small cockpit windows as it danced off the endless ice that traversed the horizon to meet its decent.

   Despite all the technology advancements in the past hundred years, the shuttle trip still had a round-trip count of twelve hours before adding on the loading and unloading procedures. There wasn’t a ton of trade between the Northern and Southern Circles, but they maintained the essential supplies trade routes as much as weather would permit. Orbital jumps were simply too expensive on the remaining resources left accessible to the Earthers, and was only used when absolutely necessary.

   Other than these few trade routes and their shuttles, the only other resources coming into or going out of the colonies came in the form of supply drops from the Galactic colonies on Mars and the Moon. It was rare that anything would be sent back with the small team of Droppers.

   Denton found it hard to imagine that there was nothing out there as he watched the white-blue landscape rush by far below. He had video clips and pictures aplenty from his family of the time before the ice. The world was completely unrecognizable to anyone left alive that remembered it any other way. His mind wandered to thoughts of what he would do if his shuttle ever went down, but quickly shook himself out of it. That was a dangerous train of thought to allow on a solo supply run. Although it was rare that it could happen, the fact remained cemented in the back of his mind that it could. The company archives were littered with stories about the crashes that had occurred, some recovered, others observed during a passing flight came across the half buried wreckage on the horizon after the ice storms had abated enough to continue running the routes.

   He hated the cold, but the money was good, and it was better than doing an essential duties job that was all too common but necessary for the Polar Circles to be maintained. Two billion people crammed into roughly a tenth of the livable space previously available and entirely brand new as far as ecosystems go. The one saving grace was the Svalbard Global Seed Vault that had been established on the old Norwegian island of Spitsbergen in the Svalbard Arctic Archipelago about 1,300 kilometers from the North Pole back when the earliest signs of global change began.

   The seed vault had provided the foundation for the revitalization of food crops lost to the ice belt, including the coffee he now enjoyed. The polar circles had shifted to mostly tropical climes, and a great deal of engineering went into maximizing crop growth within vertical farm pillars. These consisted of a central column with jutting greenhouses that looked like leaves branching off of a plant stem. Solar glass doubled as the primary source of energy production for the colonies within each polar region, and the grid could sustain well in excess of the demands.

   Thoughts? Feedback? Input of any kind? Let me know what you think.

Exodus Earth

   We thought we could escape all our problems if we could just reach the stars. Interstellar flight was the key to our future. It would bring us closer together as a whole; provide us with endless potential, and the brightest of futures.

   The first Generation Ship launched to a staccato of cheers and verbalized fears for the loved ones being lost to Earth forevermore. That was a hundred and sixty years ago. Twenty years later, Earth was entering the final stages of a massive climate change. A new ice age had begun to encase the equator to the dismay of scientists and theorists alike. They couldn't understand how they could have been so wrong about how the Earth works after so many centuries of constant study. To me, that's the beauty of life in this universe. For everything we think we know, there are ten things that surprise us.

   A massive exodus from Earth was inevitable. There simply wouldn't be enough space for the remaining populace to relocate to the polar circles and although the technology to build subterranean living shelters was advanced enough, no preparation had been made to counter nature's wrath.

   Of the nearly eight billion people that called Earth home, seven remained surface side. Best estimates for the remaining ships already built or being built in orbit, could house another five hundred million people. The Mars and Moon colonies could take another two hundred and fifty million each if they put all their efforts into expanding living and agriculture domes. That left nearly six billion souls to fight for survival as the remaining population attempted to cram as many as they could into the polar circles while maintaining adequate sustainable food, water, and waste management systems. To say it was ugly would be putting it in the most positive light possible.

   Nearly half of the remaining Earthers died of exposure or in the fighting that broke out over who would get to live in the polar circles over the next ten years. Fanatical groups that were pro-apocalypse sprung up in ever increasing numbers and frequency. By the time the last seven generation ships were ready to leave orbit, only two billion people remained surface side. My grandparents were two of them, and they were the remaining leaders of the southern polar circle.

Seven Days To Dead

   It all went to hell on a Monday. It was nothing like the zombie apocalypse or post nuclear fallout stories and tv shows we were oh so familiar with, nor was it an alien invasion. It was more like the Earth simply had enough of our bullshit.

   The ground shook like mad. City streets ripped open swallowing houses, cars, and anything else that occupied the same space as its wrath. The sea rose like bile in an upset stomach, and once dormant volcanoes erupted with fury. Their tops exploded or simply slid aside as the bowels of our once mystical world vomited up raw vengeance for all the years of ignorance and neglect brought on by our greed and laziness. The skies were aflame with a torrent of molten slag that descended like a rainstorm straight out of hell.

   Maybe that's what this is, hell. God knows we deserve a reckoning. Time and again we've displayed that we never learn from our mistakes. We like to think of ourselves as a sophisticated and intelligent species, and we definitely like to think that we've evolved into this majestic race of beings that have come so far in our short existence. The truth is, we never really learned a damn thing. We mock faith, we squabble and fight over existential things that really don't matter, and we go to war over resources we really don't need instead of moving beyond them when we discover an alternative that is better for our health and the world as a whole all because the one percenters hold sway over the decision makers of whole countries with their wallets.

   Truth hurts when it really boils down to it. I guess that's why I'm writing about it now instead of explaining what happened to us. Hell, what I really wish is that I could just lay back on my pillow at night and fall asleep without thinking about it all again and having to get back out of bed to empty it all out onto paper until I can't physically keep going anymore and essentially pass out instead. Can't always get what you want I guess.

   The worst of the first day wasn't all the shit the Earth threw at us at once, it was the chaos that ensued after. Our complacency became so apparent that day. We had become so blinded by the technologies we created to make the day to day easier that we literally had no idea how to react to a total cut off. All of the infrastructures for communication lasted about fifteen minutes tops. By mid-afternoon the skies were dark enough with smoke and ash clouds that it could have been dusk. All the extra energy in the air manifested into electrical storms without the thunder. Definitely not the pleasant summer storm one might enjoy witnessing in the countryside while visiting a family farm. The discharged electricity nuked most electronics within fifty miles of the storms wherever they occurred. Not like an EMP though. Some things still worked after. This just added an extra layer to the panic of course. You see, people tend to go completely mental when the world breaks as it turns out. Some have a primal survival instinct that kicks in while maintaing their humanity, but the rest just sort of crack. They instantly give into the fight or flight instincts that seem to be present in most species. More into the fight than the later.

   There was no time for anyone in the governing body or in the military to respond to anything. No emergency broadcasts, no emergency responses or aid teams, no, nothing like that. Everything just seemed to happen all at once, everywhere. The only thoughts anyone had was to save themselves. Of all the things that happened that first day, far and above it all was the very hard lesson that in the end of all things the thing to fear the most is people. We're bloody animals.

Day One

   There's nothing better than the smell of fresh brewing coffee and bacon in the morning for me. It epitomizes relaxation for me. It's the only routine I have at the end of a long week dredging through society to earn a living. Friday ends and I hit the road home forgetting all about everything that occurred over the past five days, and I let it all melt away as I pull into my driveway outside of the city. This is my fortress of solitude and peace. For two full days and nights I am the only one in charge of my destiny. I know it won't last forever, but I don't care. The door clicks shut behind me as I enter the house and that's the last I think about any of it for those two days.

   "Honey, I'm home," I shout down the hall as I wrestle out of my coat and shoes.

   "Daddy," my seven year old son shouts as he runs out of the living room to my right and jumps into my arms, wrapping his arms around my neck. My wife pokes her head out of her office halfway down the hall towards the kitchen with a smile from ear to ear and glow on her face that melts my heart every time I set eyes on her.

   "Hi there," she says as she steps out into the hall and leans against the doorframe waiting for me to close the remaining five feet of distance between us. I'm smiling like a goof as I bend around our son who's still in my arms to give her a passionate kiss as she hugs us both. All is right in the world for another two days.

   Friday evening fades away with the family and quickly gives way to Saturday morning, my favourite time of the week. No alarm clock forcing me to wake up and get out of bed before I'm ready to, the smell of fresh ground coffee and frying bacon greet me when I do. This Saturday is sunshine and blue skies. Not a cloud in sight. We eat our breakfast and sip our coffee on the wood patio in the back yard, soaking it all in, simply enjoying each other's company.

The Man With A Thousand Names

The man with a hundred faces, skald, wanderer, minstrel, heretic. These are but a few of the names collected over the many years Ahngvar had been journeying across the world. Each place he visited seemed to posit a new name, sometimes more than one. He had never been able to stay for long in one place, the longest stretch no more than a few years, to which he vowed never to do again. He had fallen into an illusion of the heart, and his mind had become weak. He allowed himself to feel safe, worse, he had allowed himself to believe that those around him could be safe.
It had been many years and many places since his first event. To think it would never happen again was folly. It all ended badly, his only recollection of the second event was that of flames licking at his cloak as he walked from the rubble of the humble little cabin he had made his home. As his awareness returned he looked about the village in horror. It had been completely leveled. Not a single wall remained intact. Shattered skeletons of homes and friends alike were strewn everywhere, burning. Acrid smoke burned his eyes and throat. He was often reminded of the second event anytime he was around a fire or caught scent of wood smoke. He had buried those he could find amongst the ruins of the village or had been flung through the air landing in various places on the outskirts. Most had simply evaporated or burned to ash. The worst of it was not finding any remains of his beloved with which to say goodbye.
He had traveled hard after that, stopping for no more than a few days to do whatever odd job he could to earn a few coins or more commonly in exchange for food for the road. His only constant companions were a simple lute, his bow, a bedroll, a backpack with a few meager belongings, and a finely forged axe.

~*~

During the onset of summer a few years later Ahngvar sat on a large flat rock that jutted out over the shore of a lake somewhere in the hinterlands. The glassy surface reflected the deep blue sky above and the sun warmed his face as he leaned back, hands propping him up as he took in the serenity of it all. Birds sung their songs as they fluttered about in the trees behind him. Somehow he had found a moment of peace once again. All of his haunts and worries melted away for a brief moment while every muscle in his body relaxed. He laid back on the rock and let it all wash over him. He wished this euphoric moment would last forever. There he slumbered.
It was dark when he awoke to the scent of smoke on the wind. A full moon danced in the reflection of the night sky off the water as a slight breeze lapped water against the shore. A flicker of firelight pulled his gaze towards the north end of the lake and his belly grumbled. He realized he had not eaten since breakfast. He rummaged through his pack for a heel of bread, his last, and a strip of dried meat. He contemplated whether to forage for food or hunt on the morrow as he chewed on his food.
The firelight which at first seemed small was now much brighter. He couldn't tell if it was one campfire or a few, or something else entirely from this distance. His curiosity got the better of him as he finished eating the last of his food. Resigned to the fact that he would most likely not get much sleep this evening due to his long sunny nap, he gathered up his belongings and trudged off into the woods heading north towards the firelight.