Roll Call (277 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (View user info) at 2006-12-04 19:29:29 EST
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
"Daniel Wells?" asked the man, looking around the room.
"Here," came the reply, a nonchalant hand being raised from the back row.
Nodding in recognition, the man marked a check next to the boy's name, before continuing. "Jessica Young?"
"Here!" The bubbly voice chimed in, the waving arm attached to a clean young blonde sitting in the closest desk possible.
With a meaningless smile, the man penned her presence.
"And...Alex Zwieback..." he finished, having already noticed the young boy's face during the process of calling the roll. Without even looking up to see the telltale hand, he checked the box next to Alex's name, clicking his retractable pen and putting it aside.
"Now then. Who wants to take this up to the office for me?"
---
This was the scene of Alex's life. Always last for every roll call, always at the end of the line, always ignored.
So what's in a name?
Everything, Alex found.
It seems like such a simple thing, this meaningless system we call alphabetical order. But to Alex, it was his entire childhood. In the play of life, he was always an extra, his name dead last on the program.
It wasn't that Alex was abnormal, a social misfit...It was just that he was merely average in nearly all aspects of life. There were no talents, and at the same time no flaws, that distinguished him from everybody else. And as a result, Alex spent his developing years very much alone, as fickle children and self-conscious teens overlooked him for those with more to offer.
He couldn't even turn to his own family for help. As the middle of five children, Alex was either always in the shadows of his elders, or passed over for the needy younger.
If only his last name had been Adams, or Aaron, or Anderson, he might have stood a chance. He would have been first, he would have been noticed, at least at school! People would line up behind him, would have to wait until he was present and accounted for.
But no. His great-great-great-whatever ancestors had decided naming the family after an infant cracker was the way to go. Even God seemed to have conspired against him, making sure his lineage always had a male to pass on the family name.
Come to think of it, God was also the one who had made Alex so average, so downright unnoticeable.
Alex wasn't really a huge fan of God.
The Big Guy never really seemed to do him any favors, never seemed to throw Alex the metaphorical karma bone. It wasn't that Alex resented God, there was no spite. If anything, he was disappointed in God for forgetting to watch over him.
Sometimes it all seemed too much for Alex to bear. He never thought of killing himself, life wasn't that bad...He just wished it could all be different, that if only life could be all about him for a change, he'd be happy.
And then one day, Alex stopped dreaming, and...
---
...woke up, now twenty-three years old and living alone. The social habits of his teen years had followed him into adulthood, his personality still so bland that his mother no longer called him on his birthday.
On this day, he slowly shuffled out of bed, squinting as he rubbed the droppings of the evening's nightmares from his eyes. After a shower and a piss, he went into the kitchen to have a quick breakfast. Pouring a bowl of cereal, he lumbered over to the couch, easing himself downward as he turned on the local news.
But instead of the annoyingly cheerful smiles of soulless newscasters, Alex was somewhat confused to find the droning boop of the multicolored sign-off screen. Flipping through the other three biggies, he found that all the stations had seemingly stopped broadcasting. Even CNN was off-air, an omen that did not sit well in Alex's empty stomach.
Placing his breakfast aside, he headed for the window, not knowing what to expect once he peered out those curtains.
Nothing.
No nuclear wasteland, no alien invaders, no zombies...just the normal suburban sights.
Well, except for one thing.
There was a car, in the middle of the road. It wasn't moving, wasn't flashing, wasn't honking...it was just there. There without a driver, lying forgotten in the nonexistent flow of traffic.
Slipping on his sneakers, Alex unlocked the front door, intent on discovering the cause of his perplexity. He wondered if maybe he was still asleep, that perhaps all this was just in his head.
But as he stood in front of the passenger-side door, feeling the cool metal of the vehicle's roof as the car's still-running motor jiggled his hand, he knew this was real.
Stooping over, he cupped his hand to the window, and peering past the reflection of the glass, he saw the key in the ignition, and definitely no driver. Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and so he climbed inside.
As he reached over to turn off the vehicle, he paused, as a pile of clothes in the driver's seat caught his attention. Shirt, tie, pants...even the man's underwear was there. Looking at the floor, Alex wasn't all that surprised to find a pair of loafers with socks hanging loosely over the sides.
"What the...?" he muttered softly, holding the shirt and rubbing the fabric ponderously.
Switching off the car, Alex grabbed the slacks, and started rifling through the pockets. He pulled out the man's wallet, but not before noticing the belt still firmly buckled around the waist. Inspecting the driver's license inside, he discovered this all belonged to John Taft, a nearby neighbor he had seen before, but of course never spoke to.
He paused for a moment, thinking over the day's events. First the TV stations had all blanked out, and now there was a naked John Taft running around somewhere.
Tossing the wallet back onto the pile of clothes, he exited the car, slamming the door behind him. Right then he decided he'd head over to his next-door neighbor's, a family of five, and see if maybe they could offer some sort of explanation.
But repeated knocks at the front door produced nothing, further concerning Alex. It was only about seven-thirty in the morning, the house should have been alive with kids getting ready for school and parents hustling out the front door for work.
So against his better judgment, Alex put his hand on the knob and turned, whereupon the door promptly swung open.
"Hello?" he called out cautiously, not wanting to spook the family. "My name is Alex, I live next door..."
When no one answered, he stepped inside. "Anybody home?"
Shuffling past the frame, he shut the door softly behind him, his feet lightly tapping the hardwood floor as he crept further into the house.
Finding the kitchen, Alex nearly wet himself, as he found a flowered sundress discarded in front of the open refrigerator door. It was soaking in a pool of orange juice, the broken pitcher that had once contained the liquid lying in shards amongst the tile. At the table were more clothes, three heaps of children's jeans and t-shirts tossed on each of three chairs.
Flashes of John Taft ran through Alex's head, as the mystery went from spontaneous streaking to something with far more conspiracy.
Alex ran off, through the rest of the house, wondering if the same fate had befallen the father, or if somehow the man could be saved.
His search came up empty, however, until he decided to check the lone closed door back behind the main bedroom. Light streamed from the crack underneath the door, but in trying the handle, Alex found it locked.
He banged on the door harshly, gripping the knob as he yelled through the thin wood. "Sir, are you in there? What happened here!?"
After still more silence, Alex took a step back, preparing himself to ram the door. After two unsuccessful tries, he finally knocked the door open, finding himself in a bathroom.
There was a Playboy on the floor, crumpled and rustled as if it had been carelessly tossed aside, like the women inside it. But the unusual part was the ash, which was strewn on the toilet seat, and lumped in a pile on the floor. Leaning over the bowl, he found more ash, having soaked and sunken to the bottom of the water.
Looking closer at the pile on the floor, Alex could see bits of burnt clothes amongst the tiny black remains, a sight that brought convulsive gags to his throat as he tried desperately to hold back the little he had eaten that morning.
"Oh my God..." he moaned, backing out of the room slowly, unable to take his eyes off the scene. Bumping against a wall, he finally snapped to senses and ran, never stopping until he was back in the safety of his own house, the door locked tightly behind him.
Alex took a moment to collect himself, his heart pounding as slumped against the wall. Spying the phone, he jumped to his feet, snatching it up as he dialed three numbers with trembling fingers.
Thirty seconds later, Alex threw down the phone, finding that even the normally failsafe 911 couldn't help him.
Grabbing his car keys, he left through the front, speedwalking across the lawn to unlock his car. Behind the wheel, he backed out of the driveway with a squeal, peeling out as he headed off towards downtown.
---
All along the road were more vehicles, abandoned like Taft's, burning gas as they waited for feet to spur them into life. Alex nearly collided with two such cars, as he couldn't take his eyes off the piles, the heaps of running suits and ash that lined the sidewalk.
The sightings only increased as he drew closer to the city, until soon he found himself driving on the sidewalk in order to navigate the cluttered streets. His tires thumped and bumped as he ran over lost possessions, of clothes and ash, sometimes together, sometimes not.
Until finally he could go no further, as planted trees and fire hydrants blocked the way, the artificial substitutes of nature that convince people they're still on earth. Abandoning his own car without bothering to lock the doors, Alex headed off to find someone, anyone to explain what was going on.
The Macy's was empty, so was the movie theater. All he could find were more piles, in seats, on the sidewalk, on stairs, everywhere. For every person that should have been there, there wasn't, instead only an ashy mass or lump of their clothing.
"Where is everyone!?" Alex cried, stomping his feet in frustration. "Where the fuck did you all go!?"
Unable to take the solitude any longer, he took off down the road, not stopping until he found the sign he was looking for: "JEWELRY."
Bursting past the security doors, he went over to the cases and without hesitation smashed the glass, scooping up handfuls of diamonds as he laughed.
"Come and get me!" he cried to no one, beginning to feel the effects of insanity. "Someone come and take me away, someone arrest me!"
There were no sounds of footsteps, no police bursting through the door, no angry yells of once-past bullies trying desperately to maintain their authority on the weak with badges and nightsticks. Only the piercing alarm rang through Alex's mind, the maddening squeal of laughter as unseen girls giggled at his dismay.
"AUGH!" he bellowed in anger, throwing the hardened raindrops against the wall. He stormed back out onto the street, heaving in rage as he gazed at the horizon before him, not knowing where to go next.
Finally settling on a direction, he headed off towards no place in particular, no reason in mind.
---
It was around mid-afternoon when he found the sporting goods store, complete with a section full of hunting gear. Alex didn't really think he'd need to shoot anyone, but he figured having a nice boomstick might pass the time.
Selecting the biggest, most menacing beast from the wall, he turned it over in his hands, feeling its weight in his hands, marveling at the detailed craftsmanship. Then he tossed it aside. Damn thing weighed twenty pounds. Like hell he was gonna lug that around.
As he grabbed a smaller, more compact rifle, the racks of baseball bats caught his eye instead. Beating something in with one of those would certainly be more satisfying than just twitching his finger.
Alex eventually chose a nice 32-inch Louisville Slugger, the sanded wood conforming just right. Twirling it around a couple times, he took a practice swing, enjoying the light-weight yet powerful heft of the bat. Then with a tight-lipped grimace, he turned and busted in a glass display of fishing lures, smiling as thin hooks intertwined with tiny clear shards.
Heading back onto the street, Alex looked for his next target, deciding on a Chevy's windshield to satisfy the confused despair that now resided within his chest.
He continued like that for about ten minutes more, smashing storefronts and mailboxes, until he collapsed against a building, beads of sweat trickling down his face. Soon those mixed with tears, tributaries to the River Sorrow that Alex now floated down.
"Fuck..." he moaned, sobbing.
He just didn't know what to do. Everyone was apparently dead or gone, and here he was, the last soul on the face of the earth. No one to talk to, no one to listen to, no one to see or hold or smell...
They were all gone.
On a normal day, Alex would never have done what he did next, curl up into the fetal position there on that inner city street. But then again, this wasn't a normal day. He lay like that for God-knows how long, the tears still streaming down his cheeks as the sun slowly set in the sky.
He was just about to fall asleep when something across the street make him perk up, its bright white color standing out against the dirty grain of the city. Without bothering to look right-left-right, he crossed the pavement as if in a trance, only coming to a halt when the object was at his feet.
It was a sandwich board, the kind crazy people wear over their shoulders as they proclaim their unintelligible message as "disciples." And this sign was no different, as the words "REPENT SINNER, THE DAY OF JUDGMENT IS COMING" screamed the word of the Lord.
Lifting the sign to eye level, as a pile of filthy clothing made their appearance from underneath, Alex re-read the words again and again, the explanation suddenly forming in his mind.
Throwing the sign back to the sidewalk, Alex turned upward, his face ablaze with anger as he cried, "You had the fucking Rapture without me!?"
He couldn't believe it. God had had his day of reckoning, taken the righteous to heaven and condemned the sinners, and completely left Alex behind. He couldn't even smite Alex to Hell, and been done with him, nooooo. With all the things that had gone wrong with his life, the abuse through ignorance, the overlooking through omission, the suffering through silence...it was God who had dealt the final "fuck you."
"What the fuck, God?!" he yelled, his eyes shut tight. "Why the fuck me?"
Grabbing whatever he could find, he began chucking it upward, knowing it would never hurt God, but still being so angry as to not care. As he threw a small chunk of sidewalk, he roared, "I believed! I knew you were there, I tried to do good! Even though you dealt me a shitty hand, I tried my best, I hung on!"
Digging his keys from his pocket, he hurled those too, continuing, "You were the one that fucked me over, remember!? I never did shit to you, I just dealt with the shit you gave me!" Pausing to heave his wallet, he picked up where he left off, "Why the hell did you pick me? Am I some sort of guinea pig, your new fucking Abraham?!"
Throwing his arms out, he stared towards the heavens, more tears beginning to appear in his eyes, as he boomed, "Why forsake me!?"
Getting no answer, he reached back into his pockets, wanting to go back to the throwing thing, the only thing working for him. Pulling out a quarter, he prepared to let it fly towards the heavens, as he cursed, "You've never done shit for me, God! Omnipotent and caring, my ass! Go fuck yourse-"
The bolt of nothing came down before Alex could finish, covering him in invisible flame, effectively reducing him to nothing more than a pile of ash and tattered clothes in the blink of an eye.
The small coin dropped to the ground mere instants after that, clinking against the stone sidewalk as it bounced against gravity. With several twirls and rotations it gave its dying breath, coming to a halt as it finally lay still.
It was tails.
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Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2007-06-04 23:37:46 EDT (#)
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