allrite

I don't know why they chose to drop nuclear weapons on Kuala Lumpur. Multiple warheads struck the city and it's surrounds, killing most of its two million inhabitants. It's famous skyline, the Personas Twin Towers, the KL Tower, the Merdeka 118 and others, left truncated and shattered.

The only famous spot left almost untouched were the Batu Cave temples, hidden away and protected, taken as a sign by what Hindu devotees remained.

Why Kuala Lumpur, why Malaysia?

Malaysia has ties with the western world through past British rule, but also maintains relations with China and Russia. As a predominantly Muslim nation, it has connections with the Middle East as well.

Malaysia may have few enemies, but it also has few really close friends. It has never had the impact or recognition of many of its neighbours. Nobody to stand up for it.

I believe that it is this inbetween status that made Malaysia a target.

This was not a nuclear attack heralding a war between nations.

It was a message for us all from the powers that run this world. A reminder.

We can do this to you.

Drifting in the stream of life. Are you in charge of your direction? Or do you go with the flow? Do you have a choice?

The current is strong. If you fight you will only tire yourself out. You are at the stream’s mercy. Any choice leads to the same outcome. Is it a choice?

It is. The flow is interrupted. You have waited. Now is your chance. You are the stronger now.

Reach the shore. Haul yourself out.

Find another flow. Bide your time. Take your chance.

You are a passenger. But you have many destinations.

Explore. Learn. Choose.

Patience.

How is it snowing? It is summer. Hot summer. It never snows here, not even in the coldest of winter days.

Ah, the snowflakes do not melt as they touch the skin. They are not ice. They do not glisten in the dull white.

Ash. White ash from the fires that surround the city, whose bright burning tendrils reach into the edges, send glowing embers into the green pockets so they may destroy from within.

Nowhere is completely untouched by the fire. Even the air is thick with its exhalations.

It does not snow, it will not snow.

It only burns.

Waves crash, thrusting the debris of civilisation against the sea wall. Planks of wood, rusting sheets of corrugated iron almost buried by the masses of plastic detritus that float on the surface. Despite the dusk hour, the air is still hot and sticky with humidity. It always is now. But the onshore breeze makes it tolerable enough for an evening stroll.

“Do you know the story of the wall?” my companion asks.

I shake my head.

“When I was younger there were many climate change deniers in society, people who vociferously refused to believe that our actions were heating up the planet. They caused a lot of trouble for those of us who knew better, tried to thwart our every action.”

“So we made them a deal. We sold them our coastal property, under the condition that they could only on-sell it to other deniers. They thought they got it better. Prime waterfront property and sea views, after all. Then we build a wall to segregate them from us. We didn't tell them it was a barrier against them or the sea. No, we said it was to keep us out. Deniers tended to be a bigoted, racist bunch, they lapped it up.”

I stare out at the ocean, notice the eddies around hidden objects beneath the water.

“What did they do when the waters rose?” I ask.

“I don't know,” my companion admits, “By that time we had cut off all communication, sick of their attempts to poison the rest of society with their nonsense.”

“I guess we let them drown.”

#MicroFiction

The neon lights reflect off the wet road like rainbows in the murky dusk light. On the horizon, only a thin line of orange is visible beneath the ominous grey, now and then rent by a white flash of lightning.

It is not a night to be outside.

I pull over into a fast food chain restaurant, order a burger meal with chips and drinks. It's not healthy, but who cares? Our lives, as we know them, will be over tomorrow anyway.

Oh, you didn't know? Of course you didn't. It's a secret, only a few of us do.

The Messengers arrived a couple of weeks ago. They told a few of us of the coming storm, of another race that would follow and enslave us all to strip this planet of its resources before moving on.

We can take but a few, they said. But not me. Don't ask me why. They never said. My wife, my child, yes, but not me.

So here I am, sitting in a burger bar, eating terrible food and waiting for a tomorrow that won't come.

I order a hot chocolate.

The rain drums against the roof, almost drowning out the thunder of the storm.

What am I doing here? If it's as bad as the Messengers said, I might as well off myself now.

But I am a bit curious. I can't help it. It's why I became a scientist, after all.

I'll wait until tomorrow, see them arrive, an then do it. Tomorrow is another day.

The rain does down and the passing storm reveals a night sky of brilliant diamonds of light.

I go home.

I open my eyes. The view is so clear! And there are no glasses on my nose.

The operation must have been successful.

The doctor leans over me.

“Awake, I see. How do you feel?”

“I feel great! Young again.”

“Good, good,” they reply.

“Can I get up?” I ask, “When does my rehabilitation start?”

“No rehabilitation! You are good to go straight away. But I advise you, do not seek out your friends or family yet. The adjustment is often harder for them than for you. Now, just confirm the completion of the treatment here.”

With that done, they leave the room. I pick up my few possessions, change into my clothes. At the front desk I ask if there is anything for me to sign, but they just wave me through.

When I step outside into the world I realise just how my old eyes, my old body was failing me. Everything is so bright, so colourful, so pristine.

There are no aches in my body, not when I bend down to sniff a rose. On impulse I break it from the stem, lift the flower up to take a closer look.

Wait, something is strange. The curve of the petals… I gaze closer. Are they…

Pixelated?

I recoil in shock.

No.

NO!

I have been lied to. It was always a lie. A scam. My body has not been anti-aged, regenerated, made young again. Not in the real world.

I have been digitised, banished to a virtual world.

In the real world I am…

DEAD.

Tunnel lights, incendiary flack fire in slow motion. From our reference frame.

Everything is slow in the city.

Including me.

That's okay. You shouldn't hurry. Not from imaginary bullets. It's the real ones you need to dodge.

Stay below. They can't find you here. The satellites can't see you. They'll need to hack the camera nets for that. We can see them try. So far, our tech skills are better.

We hope.

If you aren't a target, there's no need to fear. Until you are.

I am.

So I stay below. Travel by train. Only leave through the underground exits. Tunnel to tunnel. Never seeing the sun.

It's not a fun life. But it is a life. Because I want to live.

So go slow, don't go out.

Stay in the tunnels.

It's dark outside. No, not dark. Empty.

Nothing.

There is nothing outside.

When you last opened the door there was a world. A whole world. People. Animals. Places.

Now there is nothing.

What happened?

Do you dare to step out? Will you become nothing too?

Inside the house is safe. Yes, maybe you should stay inside. There is light. There is warmth. Not out there.

But is there really anything inside? You are alone. Maybe they're out there. Perhaps you should try calling them.

You pick up the phone, dial a friend.

Nothing.

You could go to bed, shut your eyes, sleep. When you wake up you will discover that this is all a bad dream.

What if it isn't?

There is only one way to find out. You can't stay inside, alone, forever.

What is the point in waiting?

You open the door again.

Still nothing.

Shut your eyes.

Step out of the door and ...