The Uncanny Apocalypse

This story is written for Daniel.

I don’t think anybody saw it coming. Well, people knew that the world would end, but I don’t think they expected it to happen the way it did. Bluntly put it was because of a damn rubber band. Not one of the normal rubber bands that are fun to play with and flick at people. No. It was one of those tiny rubber bands that orthodontists give, er, gave their patients to put on their braces.

As the rubber band was falling to the ground nobody though anything of it. It was an invisible event, but when the tiny rubber circle touched pavement it was the most noticeable thing in the world.

“I HAVE HAD IT!” Gaia roared in every language, dialect, and accent as she held the rubber band. “I’VE HAD TO PUT UP WITH YOU HUMANS LONGER THAN I CAN REMEMBER! YOU AND YOUR WARS! YOUR POACHING! AND YOU POLLUTION! POLLUTION! WELL NO MORE! I HAVE GIVEN YOU CHANCE AFTER CHANCE TO CHANGE YOUR WAYS AND CLEAN UP YOUR MESS! THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE! IF YOU DON’T FIX THINGS IN NINETY DAYS I WILL DELIGHT IN ENDING YOU ALL!

Almost immediately after Gaia’s outburst a conference of world leaders was held to decide what to do about her threat.

“We cannot allow this eco-terrorist to bully us into her demands!” a president argued.

“No! We must obey,” another president said. “This is the human race we’re talking about!”

“We save the human race by fighting for it!” the first president said.

“I agree!” a prime minister said. “We need to protect our way of life!”

“No!” a queen said. “We need to comply! It is the only way!”

The conference exploded with agreements and disagreements. Yes’s clashed with no’s. Alliances were made and lines were drawn. In the end those that pushed for war told rest to just stay out of their way.

In the following weeks both parties got to work. The citizens of the world who believed that they should heed Gaia’s command planted trees. They cleaned up streets and parks. They established cleaner forms of energy and recycled. They walked, they biked, they became vegetarians. Meanwhile the citizens of the world who wanted to fight Gaia prepared. They stockpiled weapons, they trained soldiers, they set up base camps.

“We strike on Day Ninety!” they said. “When she comes we’ll have a big surprise waiting for her!”

Time passed. The air was cleaner, steel stocks were up, and the ninetieth day crept up over the horizon.

The Earth let out a low rumble as Gaia emerged.

“Well done!” she said. “You have adequately corrected your mistakes. You have kept your part of the agreement so I will keep mine. But know this, though you did well in cleaning up you must be careful to keep it clean. Be careful not to fall outside of my good graces once more.”

It was at that moment that the armies and navies and air forces of the world attacked. Bombs and missiles and bullets and torpedoes all flew towards Gaia with such speed that she didn’t have time to react. The bright flashing in the sky indicated a direct hit. Gaia was dead. And with that the Earth began to fade away like seeds from a dandelion floating in the breeze. Before they knew it people saw the hard ground being replaced with the cold blackness of space. The air was gone and everyone died.

Now there are several morals to this story. The most obvious and obnoxious one is: “Don’t fire bombs and missiles at the Greek Titaness of the Earth.” Another moral reads: “War is silly.” But perhaps the most important one of all is: “Don’t throw small rubber bands on the street.”

Martin Adagio

Martin Adagio was a mouse of small stature both physically and socially. His plain tailored clothes and patched vest were a result of his mother’s hard work as a seamstress, while his presence in Martino Leoni’s pool hall was a result of his father’s compulsive gambling habits. An earthquake of anxiety began to shake him as he approached Martino Leoni who was sitting at a booth with two of his associates, a surly-looking zebra and a shifty-eyed bear. Martin removed his cap out of respect. Martino brushed some of his oiled mane out of his face, focused his amber eyes on the quivering Martin, and said gruffly, “May I help you?”

Martin’s internal Richter Scale jumped to a 6.8.

“P-please, sir. My n-name is M-Martin Ad-dagio. My father is—ahem!—Sabatino Adagio. H-he owes you a d-debt.”

“And a large one at that,” Martino said. “Are you here to pay it off on his behalf?”

Martin hesitated.

“Please Signore Leoni, my family is very poor. Please give me a chance to earn back my father’s debt. I am a better poker player than he is.”

“Why should I do that?” the lion asked. “When I promise to do something I follow through on that promise. The word of a Leoni is sacred. Why should the word of an Adagio be any different?”

“Signore, the word of an Adagio is sacred too, but we are very poor. We would not be so if my father had not gambled away all our money. Please. I implore you!” Martin pleaded.

Martino fell into a skeptical silence. His eyes scanned young Martin Adagio. This caused Martin to shirk back in near terror as the lion sized him up. Martin found himself fumbling with his tail as he was one to do whenever he felt nervous. Finally Martino cleared his throat and spoke.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’m in a generous mood today. I will give you a chance to earn back your father’s debt.”

“Oh thank you sir! Thank you! Thank you!” Martin cried out in joy.

“But we won’t be playing poker. We’re going to leave it entirely up to chance.”

Martino pulled from his pocket two translucent red dice.

“Okay,” he said, “here are the rules. We each roll and whoever rolls the lower die wins. If you win I erase your father’s debt. If I win, though, I double your father’s debt and your whole family has to work for me until it’s paid off. You agree to my terms?”

Martino extended a large furry hand. Martin’s smaller and hairless hand reached out and shook it.

“Fine. On my count. Ready?” Martino said handing Martin a die. “One, two, three.”

The mouse and the lion let the dice fly from their hands. Martino’s die rattled around the table a bit before revealing a two. Signore Leoni bore a satisfied smirk. Martin’s die skitted off the table and onto the floor. Martino craned his neck slightly to see what had been rolled.

“Ha! A six!” he laughed. “Your father’s debt is doubled and I own you know.”

“Pardon me, signore,” Martin said timidly. “But you said the lower die wins?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Well you may have the rolled the smaller number, but my die is lower than yours. So according to your rules my father’s debt is cleared.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Martino said.

“It is what you said though, signore,” Martin said softly.

“He does have a point, Martino,” the lion’s zebra associate said. “You did say ‘lower.’”

“But that’s not what I meant. He’s manipulating what I said.”

“There wasn’t a rule against that,” the bear chimed in.

“Be quiet! The both of you! This is none of your business,” Martino snapped.

“But what’s this boy to you?” the bear continued. “Clear his father’s debt and let him be on his way. Or is the word of a Leoni not sacred any more?”

Martino glared at Martin, causing the mouse to squeeze his tail tightly, before finally saying, “Fine! Just go. Tell your father that his debt is forgiven.”

“Oh, thank you, signore! Thank you! Thank you!” Martin exclaimed joyously, bowing his head repeated as he backed away. When he reached the door of the pool hall he turned around and ran home to tell his father.