As the warmth of the sun from the new day washed down over us, and as the bright light of nature forced us to squint, we sat, deep in thought. Neither speaking, neither even acknowledging the other’s presence. I inhaled deeply, noticing for the first time the sweet scent of the flowers by which we were surrounded. "Isn't nature grand?" I mumbled, more to myself than to my companion.
"Nothing will ever be the same again," he told me, verbalizing his thoughts for the first time in hours. It was a fact, not merely his opinion. We both knew the veracity of that statement, but this was the only time either of us had been brave enough to say it out loud. It was almost as though we thought that by speaking it, it became true—more true than it would have been had it not been spoken. Of course, we knew this was nonsense…yet somehow, we believed it. It was almost a comfort—at least, it had been such for me. But now…now that he had uttered those words. Now they were authentic—now they were genuine. I could no longer deny what I had known all along.
We were alone. We had been alone for hours upon hours. It was as though no one else even existed. But it didn't even matter. Because soon, they wouldn't. Nor would we. It had been the plan all along, and up until this point had gone off with few glitches. Then the sun came up, and the day was here. Now apprehension overtook me from the very depths of my soul. And this wasn't favorable—no, not at all. I was the calm, levelheaded one. The one who never worried. While he…he was the brains of the operation. The genius…some might say the smartest man on Earth. But myself? No, I didn't have the intelligence to pull this off myself. Nor did I have the strength. But courage—yes, valiancy was something I not only had to offer, but could afford to give away. Some, of course, might argue that causing mass destruction was not quite so valiant as I thought it to be. But I believe that any human being, when put in my shoes, would have done exactly as I did. That's assuming he were capable of pulling it off, of course.
"Look at the sky." He spoke once again. "The clouds… They are so beautiful. They sky is so blue, the grass so green. Nature is grand, as you yourself just said." He sighed, breathing in the fresh air that would only be there for a few moments longer.
I took another glance at the photo in my hand. The baby in the image giggled, as she always had—and perhaps, as she always would. She was an innocent victim in all of this—her only crime was being born. We were trying to make it better for her and for so many others. There was nothing here for them. Nothing on this Earth—not the clear blue sky, not the cool breeze, or the fresh air—none of the wonders that I had known would be left. For now, she lay asleep in her warm abode, oblivious to all that would soon transpire around her. Or perhaps, as had been the case on so many other occasions, she had arisen with a start at an early hour that morning. And now, perhaps, her parents were assuaging her, giving her a bottle, or telling her a story. Yes, they must have been relating a facetious story to the infant. A tale full of whimsy and mystical occurrences. It contained, maybe, a dragon. Or a princess—yes, a princess! A monarch of some sort, at any rate. Of course, there must be danger. Or at least some mild concern for the life of the protagonist. What sort of story is without conflict, after all? But surely this narrative wasn't about annihilation. Surely it wasn't about Armageddon. No parent in their right mind would tell their child such things. She'll just have to experience those for herself, right, Mommy? And she shall—sooner than you may think.
I cannot even recall how the nefarious intention entered my mind in the first place. But once it was there, there was no stopping it. My brain has a mind of its own, or so it would seem. One of the globe's most renowned scientists came to me one day. He declared that he'd concocted a device capable of destroying the entire planet in one fell swoop. "Why?" I asked. What use could he possibly have for this mechanism?, I wondered. His response was a surprising one. He'd had plans, he said, to establish a worldwide utopia—one which could have potentially eliminated all the problems of posterity. But his ideas had been discarded by that which we so inanely refer to as our "government." He knew that, were his plans not followed to letter, agony and misery would be all that was left for generations to come. He simply could not sit back and allow his children and their children to live in a world so full of terror. Knowing what he had to do, he launched his new strategy. He built this apparatus, but when all was said and done, he had not the courage to push the button.
With my initial question answered, a new one formed in my head. "Why me?" I asked. Why did he come to me? Why was I the one chosen to push the button for him? His answer was simple. I had the courage; he knew that much. While he was potentially able to fashion the implement, I was the one capable of activating it. I was frightened at the beginning, but after careful forethought, I was realized his disposition to be a rational one. What kind of a world was actually left for the future? Not much of one indeed. After weighing the pros and cons of every aspect of his contrivance, I agreed to do my part.
We couldn't do it immediately, of course. I needed time. A few days to spend with my family and friends before we put our artificial Armageddon into action. But finally the day had come. We had it all mapped out. Not only did we know the day we'd do, we had it down to the exact second. And now the time was drawing near. And I was getting nervous. Of course, I wasn't going to back down—I never back down from something I've said I’ll do.
"It's time," he told me, an evil grin on his face. And it was.
I said nothing. I merely stood, walked over and pushed the tiny red button on the machine. Of course, it did nothing.
"You actually went through with it," he said, mock surprise filling his voice. He knew I would. That's what he'd been counting on, after all. However, there was one small detail he hadn't been counting on. He placed me in handcuffs. The cold metal dug into my skin; it may have caused me to wince in pain, but it didn't, because I had knowledge which made me oblivious to it. I only smiled as my skin was torn, and dark red blood began to drip onto the ground, tainting the once-flawless green of the grass. He didn't speak, nor did he need to. I knew where he was taking me—or, rather, where he thought he was taking me. He was going to lock me up in a mental institution, or even in a cold, dank jail cell—someplace where I'd never again see the light of day. Little did he know, he'd never again see the light of day, either.
"I think there's one thing which you're overlooking here, sir," I told him prosaically. "And that's the fact that the button I've just pushed isn't powerless, as you may think. It does work. In fact, it does exactly what you've told me it does…"
"Oh, yes?" he laughed scornfully. "I see. And I suppose that you've manufactured it that way yourself, eh? Of course, there's one small discrepancy between your story and reality."
"Really? What would that be?"
"Of course you know what it is," he informed me. "It's the fact that you're not even a scientist. You're unintelligent, and you are, by no means, capable of doing what you claim to have done. No human being on this Earth—not the most wicked, nor the most cerebral—has ever been able to create a contrivance proficient enough to eradicate civilization. So why would I believe that you—a complete nonentity—could even dream of—"
Perhaps he could have completed his sentence. Perhaps—if the explosion that followed hadn't disemboweled us both…and perhaps if his mouth hadn't found itself miles away from the rest of his face…
