Excerpt: Aequalitas

The television flickered to life, sound stuttering out of its muffled speakers. A silent image faded and focused before the sound caught up with it. Behind a tattered news desk sat a lone anchor, looking disheveled.

“We have some late breaking news to report to you, thank you for joining me.”
The anchor turned to his left, the camera cutting to him. Showing the same face, the same blank background. A small motion meant to remind the viewer of how the news used to be. How life used to be.

“The Forces of the One today announced their plans to immediately cut off all remaining electricity if their orders are not followed. They have taken over Washington, D.C., and New York stands upon the brink of destruction. The Alliance members, from their stronghold in Los Angeles have condemned the action, and promise a swift rebuttal. We take you now to our affiliate station outside of New York City, but please be warned, what you are about to see is disturbing. You may want to turn away.

Static. And then another image filling the screen, this time in color. Not that there is much color left in the world. A reporter outside of Manhattan talks into her microphone. She keeps talking, but the camera quickly pans to her left. It takes her a moment to realize she should be looking at what we are, and describing what we are seeing. She catches up, but her breath does not. Behind her, skyscrapers seem to be become covered in black wax, drawn on with a crayon. Then they fade and disappear, lost forever. The skyline vanishes as she watches and Charlene turns off the television.

“Alright everyone, please pull out your notebooks. Today we are going to work on spelling.” Charlene, otherwise known as Mrs. Flowers is a widow of the war. Most people are. But she trudges on with her class. They ask why they have to learn, why they have to come to school, instead of being at home with their families. They are scared that each time they embrace their parents, it will be the last. Mrs. Flowers does not know how to answer these questions. So instead, she makes sure that all of her pupils can spell correctly. That will keep order. The semblance of, at least.

My name? My name is Alexander. I don’t have a son to drop off to Mrs. Flower’s class anymore. I used to, but he died. He died in my arms, I watched him fade away. Of every single person on the planet, I should have been able to save my own son. But instead, I felt powerless. No. I was powerless. I started this war. And it will end me. The trick is to stop it before it does.