by
Jon
he vast molten orb of the sun glowered fiercely, blocking everything but it's golden circumference. Great solar winds gushed outward, rising higher than the planet Jupiter, their seething crests curled in eerie perfection. Slowly, a small sapphire sliver of light peeped from behind the massive star.
Grudgingly, it lefts it's hiding spot and came into full view, a vast, rotating sphere of gemlike beauty. Clouds swirled around it like tremendous milky veins, the ocean encompassing it's whole being. Occasionally, patches of bronze land rose from the ocean, great plateaus and mighty mountains. But somewhere, in the medial point between North and South America, a tiny abnormality rested. Nothing but a tiny speck in the vast blue monotony, but still, a noticeable change from what the Earth had been for so many aeons. Closer to the Earth a much different view appeared. Acid Rain It has been three days since they came. Three days since our fall. Three days, just three. To think that in just seventy-two hours an entire civilization can be obliterated is a frightening thought in itself. I write these things down in the third person, reciting it from my point of view would bring back too many memories, violent memories, and I vowed never to feel again... Brian slammed his locker shut, and leaned his burning face against it, relishing in it's icy comfort. The halls of the school were empty, vacant except for him and a few spare papers. Row after row of lockers, just like his, spread on for eternity, spanning the hall, forming a second charcoal wall of steel and plastic. The lights from overhead gleamed dully on the speckled green floor, covered with countless dustballs and discarded pens. With a tumultuous clatter the books inside his locker crash over the shelf and onto the bottom of the container. Turning away with an exasperated sigh, he rolled his eyes and began to tramp down the hall, his backpack bouncing jovially as he went. Clatter, clatter, clatter. The book in his pack banged together discordantly, making a adverse racket. Clatter, clatter, clatter, stamp, clatter, clatter, clatter, stamp. Brian stopped dead. He never had a cool head and he never would. With an alarmed spin he turned around, muscles tightening, and scanned the horizon behind him. What was that sound? He knew nothing in the musty crevices of his backpack made a stamping sound. Squinting, he look harder. Nothing. Turning to leave, he froze. He had read about this in books to many times. When you think it's nothing, it's always something. Without a second thought he head back where he came from, to the source of the sound. He reached the end of the hall, it's turquoise walls bare, devoid of the usual school posters. He had found nothing. Nothing but the double-doors to the vacated cafeteria. Not the slightest trace of what made the sound. Your over-reacting again, Brian. He told himself. Yet some unknown something pulled him to the door. Some inextinguishable curiosity. Rolling his eyes at his own foolishness, he stepped forward grasp the door, took a deep breath an opened it. Light. Chaos. Darkness. When he next awoke he was lying in the middle of the cafeteria, his throat burning, begging for water. Gazing at the ceiling in bewilderment, he tried to swallow, suddenly a blazing inferno was set loose in his mouth. A roaring pain surged up his esophagus. His throat was enflamed, water wouldn't help such suffering. He let his hand flop over and smack the tawny tile sharply. That's when he noticed it, a tiny triangular impression on his palm. Smooth and cool to the touch, it seemed to throb with his every movement, a living metronome. Something's wrong, he thought. Gazing at the rest of the room, it was the same as usual. The utilitarian table lined up as always, the vending machines still glowing brightly in the dusky evening light. No trace of a problem. No trace of the problem, the problem which, at that moment, threatened mankind's existence. With a shiver he rose, his legs like rusty pistons, and headed towards the door. With a hearty push the metal bulk gave way, and Brian was enveloped in spring-time euphoria. The birds twittered about nervously in the air, dense with pollen, and the sun shone down generously on the emerald carpet of grass before him, yet something was wrong. A palpable tension was building in the air, an uncomfortable brooding that would not be lifted. Far overhead a splotch in the sky drifted from the sun, it was shaped like a triangle, the same as the one on Brian's hand. He blinked unbelievingly. Something was wrong. Three miles above, the Starship Qsaurian Amdromeda hovered over the Earth. That lush and beautiful world that was it's silent victim. Qsaurian 1 rose from the mesh seat, and, pressing a scarlet button on a nearby control panel, it folded up with a mechanical sigh. As he slid it into the desk drawer, he couldn't help but look out the window and gaze in awe at the Earth. Such a beauteous and fair world, so sacrilegiously mistreated. You deserve better, he thought, his lips curling with a bestial smile, so much better. Then, with a despairing gesture, he averted his eyes and looked at Mars. Two worlds of such stark contrast. One a lush jungle inhabited with life-forms, water, air, the other, a barren wasteland devoid of anything but dust and ashes. Yet once, aeons ago, things were different. Qsaurian 1 let himself fall into a dreamlike trance, his eyes becoming distant and vacant. It was long ago, so long ago. At the beginning of time, when the solar system was still young, a great civilization, unparalleled by any other, rose on the unsullied face of Mars. Then, it was a virtuous land of deep rivers and ancient forests, comparable to present day Earth. Formed from the primeval dust they conquered, the Martian natives were a brilliant shrewd race, which quickly conquered their own planet, and began to reach for the stars. A few of their astronomers had a credence that far away, on the fringes of the solar system, existed a vast group of meteors called the Oort Cloud. It was from here all terrestrial meteors originated. Once every 50 years of so, a few were released to wander about the solar system. They named it the Oort Cloud because, frankly, it was shaped like a cloud. It began to rain. From the momentous cloud a plethora of meteors rained forth, each with more incredible size and force than the last. Mars suffered greatly from this catastrophe, soon the once fertile ground grew acidic and dry, and the lakes evaporated. Climbing into experimental rockets, two Martian colonies headed into the null void, in search of inhabitable planets. The first group headed toward the planet Earth, a young, flourishing planet eight times Mars' size. It contained an over-abundance of water and a vast array of lifeforms. It was a very promising future for this colony. The second, on the other hand, had nowhere to go. Cruising through the solar-system proved fruitless, and their food began to run low. Their was very little hope. Then, starving, desperate, and proud, the leader chose to put the crew in a deep sleep and keep the computers on alert for inhabitable life. Slowly, the motley crew filed into their Plexiglas caskets, and prayed. 300 years later, the covers were released, and as the preservation gases cleared, the leader looked at the computer: Alert: Inhabitable Planet. With a smile he initiated the launch sequence. The leader was Qsaurian 1. They inhabited the planet and waited for Mars to rise again. But it was not easy. The soil was still too acidic, and water was still too sparse. There was very little food, and certain areas were clouded with poisonous gases. But somehow, they survived, and their colony flourished like never before. But, as their population grew, their planet would not contain all of the Martians, now named Verians. So, once again taking to the stars, they populated their spaceships and set towards their cousins, the Earthlings, with anything but peaceful intentions in mind. The Verians were at a loss for who should captain the expedition, they knew it should be someone experienced, brave, intelligent. Qsaurian 1 once again rose from the shadows, ready to carry his proud race to Earth a beyond, as he had done so long ago. Smiling again, Qsaurian 1 went over the plans he had made with his advisors earlier. Their mother-ship, the Starship Qsaurian Andromeda, would hover just above the Earth's atmosphere. Then, from their storage compartments, they would release a noxious gas the Verians had become immune to. The Earthlings would die, and the planet would be theirs to dominate. But such strategy needed assistance, so Qsaurian set up a contact on the ground, at schools and other instructional facilities scattered throughout the world. Anyone who saw his spies at work would be temporarily blinded, then brain-washed. It was a perfect plan, Qsaurian commended himself on it. Pressing the emerald button which activated the intercom, he spoke the words the whole ship wanted to hear. Release gas. Yes, as you may have guessed, I am Brian. My world is gone. All I ever loved and cared about is gone. In the past three days I've aged by at least50 years, I was only 16. I've seen my friends and family wilt before me, I have seen them wither away to a shell of their former being right in front of me. And as they looked at me with pleading eyes I wondered, when will I go? It seems the answer is never. I have contracted from the alien at my school an immunity to the gas. What else he did to me, purposely or not, I will never know. I only learned of Qsaurian's plot yesterday when airwaves from their mother-ship were translated somehow on my computer. I have the feeling they know I'm down here, and this is their final revenge. Yes, I am Brian, and I wish I could join my family, across the great divide, where I'll never have to face the guilt of surviving again. Brian gazed out the windows, his face void of expression. The mother-ship floated directly above his house. Trembling, he rose his hand to the ship, observing his deformed palm and that of the aircraft. Every line, every detail exactly the same. It was vaguely shaped like a hi-tech jet, with a large crystalline dome in the middle. In the dome the faint outlines of buildings rose, buildings and houses where the Verians temporarily lived until they "took what was theirs". Slowly, without a sound, the black streamlined figure fell to the ground. And as it lowered, so did Brain's hand. Closing his eyes, a brief tear fell onto the floor and his sigh could be heard clearly, echoing up and down the forsaken streets of his empty world...
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