The Breakdown (516 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (View user info) at 2007-01-09 05:07:03 EST
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What is life?
The question has become cliché, yet at the same time, there is no widely recognized answer. For all its significance, we still can't explain why we are all here today.
It's an amazing thing, this unexplainable gift we've been given. And yet so often we take it for granted, this thing we cannot even begin to comprehend. We say things like,
"Life sucks."
"I wish I were dead."
"Aw, kill me now."
And sometimes, we even mean it.
We've taken the biggest mystery in the universe, and demoted it to nothing more than an acceptance, an inevitability that will always be there, in one form or another. But there are questions to be explored that have no answer, that should show us this is no commonplace, that life is something to truly treasure.
Why can you remember what you had for breakfast this morning?
Why can you think of an object in your mind, and then give voice to it?
Why can you give life to a newborn child, but not to a rock?
For all the scientific mumbo-jumbo about how catalysts and neuron impulses make our body physically work, it has no explanation for the mental aspect, let alone a clear-cut reason for birth.
The very fact that these things seem to just...happen, should be the reason that one believes in something more. A god, the God, a higher realm of existence, miracles, anything.
Because no matter what you believe in, the simple fact is that there is something inside us, something that enables us to think, age, and grow. Whether that something be a soul, an enzyme, or just a cognitive acceptance, it is there, and each breath you take proves that.
It's what separates us from the inorganic: the ability to consciously choose our destiny. We can react, and change, and it's all due to free will, whatever that may in fact be.
So now that you're in a contemplative state of mind, ask yourself:
Why are you alive?
Not sure?
Don't worry. Twenty years from now, you will know the answer.
////
In 2027, the first recorded incident occurred.
Henry James Solenbaum was a potato farmer is eastern Idaho. On this given day, Henry was tending to his 26-acre plot of land, riding the huge tiller that would mix the soil just in time for the fall season.
While making a sweep near the acre of land nearest the farmhouse where he and his family lived, he spied his wife Emily standing in the front doorway. Catching her gaze, he smiled, waving as he continued his work. Emily smiled back, returning the gesture with the reflective eyes of one who couldn't be happier. She watched him pass by, continuing to look on as he drove past.
And then the daydreaming started, as she watched the simple-minded man of her dreams putter off under the mid-day sun. She thought of how good life had been, how even through the hardships, the two of them had persevered, smiling through each box on the calendar as if they had all the time in the world.
The more time Emily spent with Henry, the more she was convinced she made the best decision of her life. The two of them were so well connected, she could swear they communicated on an almost subliminal level.
As the tiller made a wide 180, coming back for another sweep past the house, she had a wistful little thought, one that would make even the girls down at the local Oprah Book Club meeting giggle like they were back in grade seven. She mused to herself that if she concentrated hard enough, she could make Henry stop that tiller and come give her the most romantic peck on the lips she ever did see.
As if on cue, the tiller's rumbling motor came to a sputtering wheeze, the jiggling contraption finally still just about 50 yards down the way.
But Henry didn't have a kiss in mind.
Stumbling to the edge of the cab, Henry stared at his wife with the eyes of a man condemned, his face white like fresh ground flour. His focus strayed from her to his hands, to his legs, then back to her, before repeating the process.
But before she could run to his side, he was screaming, the pain of a fly as its wings are slowly ripped from its body. Concern washing across her face, she called his name, louder, louder, afraid to approach, with only her voice to console him.
By the time her legs got moving, the screaming had stopped, only to be replaced with a sickening moan as Henry's eyes rolled back in his head. She was twenty yards away when it happened, Henry raising his hands to his face as the milky-white circles tried to witness the phenomena that was his evaporation.
His fingertips were the first to go, his long and dirty farmer's nails slowly trimming themselves away. At the same time, Henry began slowly shrinking from view, as the bottoms of his feet melted away inside his shoes. There was no blood, no mess, as whatever was happening to Henry slowly sealed his wounds shut with an invisible seal.
All the while this was happening, his body was giving off a fine mist, almost as if his body was steaming itself to oblivion. Near the bottom of what used to be his feet, strange crystals began clumping together, tiny stalagmites forming before Emily's very eyes.
And then whatever horrible sensation Henry was feeling ceased, as the top of his skull began hissing off into the air. Within seconds everything above his nose was gone, leaving only the world's most gruesome Jello mold behind.
Emily could only scream in hysterical horror as her ex-husband fell out of the cab, his body not much more than a torso with sawed-off stumps.
As she sat there crying, watching on as the process continued, she couldn't help but feel strangely numb inside. The sheer insanity of what had just happened was playing tricks with her mind, and she couldn't even begin to understand what happened, let alone give feeling to it.
By the time she gathered herself enough to go inside and dial 911, Henry had completely vanished, leaving nothing but a pile of crystals buried underneath the day's workclothes.
Venturing back into the afternoon sun, Emily dazedly walked over to the tiller, kneeling down beside the forgotten shirt and overalls. As the sirens drew near, she lifted the cotton pullover to her face, rubbing the rough fabric against her skin, waiting for someone to come and wake her up.
////
It was three hours later, and Emily was repeating her story for questioning police officer #6. This time, it was a scruffy-looking cop who seemed like he hadn't had a cup of coffee since Starbucks started its mega-monopoly.
She spouted off every detail with tear-stained cheeks, having to re-live the ordeal each time "a couple questions" had to be asked. She was tired of all this; at this point she just wanted to go inside a take a long nap in a hot bath.
If she happened to slip under...well, whatever happens happens.
In fact, she really felt quite sick, an ominous rumbling in her gut sending her into a fit of vertigo. She felt light-headed, unable to stand on her wobbling feet.
The concerned detective put his hand on her shoulder, as through the haze in her head she heard him ask if she was OK. Emily shook her head, beginning to feel the stems of panic as she realized she could no longer feel the motion.
And then the steam started, her digits beginning to fade away as over a dozen uniforms slowly began turning in her direction. She screamed, screamed as loud as her vocal cords would allow, the terror of re-experiencing the tragedy too much for her already weakened sanity.
Before the men on the scene could snap themselves from their collective stupors, she fell silent, as she literally lost her mind. The paramedic on scene could do nothing but hold her as Emily went limp, having no idea how to handle sudden and rapid human evaporation. Within minutes, she was completely gone, only metal stalagmites and crumpled fabric left behind.
Approximately twelve seconds later, the call to the FBI was made.
///
By the time the infamous men in black arrived several hours later, Detective Kevin Nesmith was feeling sick to his stomach. Seeing that woman disappear like that, right in front of him...it was enough to make him want to quit the force, quit living altogether.
There was just something so inexplicably barbaric about the death, something that didn't quite sit right with him. This didn't seem like the type of thing that could ever happen naturally, two people independently evaporating into thin air. Kevin had heard the claims of spontaneous human combustion, even found himself believing the rumors, but those stories were few and far between. What had happened here, happened twice, on the very same day.
And it wasn't just the timing that struck him, it was the manner of the deaths as well. With death, usually there's a body to poke at later. Here, all they had was a bunch of rocks and a dress, hardly an indicator of foul play.
Yet they all had seen what had happened. One moment Emily Solenbaum was there, the next, poof! Gone. Every physical trace of her existence, gone, no skin, no hair, no bones, nothing.
It gave him the creeps. Kevin couldn't even imagine the pain she experienced, having her body melt away, her nerve endings continually fusing themselves off. To put it simply, the whole thing just seemed evil, a good-old fashioned smiting if he'd ever seen one.
Pausing for a second, Kevin wondered if maybe he should stop off at the local church before heading home that night, maybe say a prayer or two, make sure he was still on the good side. Just to be safe.
He was so absorbed in his pondering, he almost didn't hear the screams coming from the ambulance parked across the yard.
There the paramedic who had attempted to save Emily was howling bloody murder, an all-too familiar sound that sent shivers tinkling back up Kevin's spine. As he looked on, the paramedic fell to his knees, grasping his head in his hands, until it became apparent he wasn't going to have hands much longer.
Kevin ran over to try and help the man, but before he could take more than three steps, he was on his stomach, gasping in agony as a strange numbness began sweeping him over.
Closing his eyes, Kevin tried to remember the words for one last "Our Father," before gritting his teeth and yelling his way into the afterlife.
////
Five minutes later, the deaths of Detective Kevin Nesmith and EMT Dave Murray officially upgraded the situation to a level 1 quarantine. No one would be allowed to leave until the proper technicians could deem them safe.
By the end of the day, six more officers and two agents whiffed off into nothingness, each one leaving behind the telltale metallic crystals.
Jim Stanton, an amateur geologist, said at first glance they appeared to be pure carbon.
////
And so the usual clean-up orders were given, hermetically-sealed tents, faceless men in baggy plastic bodysuits, National Guard, everything needed to keep a crisis quiet. Lies were told, flimsy excuses propped upright, and eventually the entire incident was buried from the public eye.
Of course, the inner workings were alive with nervousness over this new development. People just disappearing into the air, mere hours after apparent "infection?" How could anyone possibly deal with such a threat?
Thankfully, the Solenbaum Exodus, as the in-the-know liked to call it, appeared to be an isolated incident, as four months passed without further reports.
In that time, the best the government had to offer made use of the little materials they had, and had deduced what had happened.
Emily Solenbaum contracted this virus, whatever it was, when she took hold of the shirt Henry was wearing when he first disappeared. The organic nature of the cotton was enough to keep the virus alive, yet not enough to make it anything more than a carrier.
Kevin Nesmith caught it when he took hold of Emily's shoulder, and EMT Murray unknowingly infected himself when he examined Emily, despite his protective latex gloves. This was attributed to the natural rubber that can be found in most latex, making his hands a buzzing hive of eventual agony.
The other officers were exposed in similar fashions, shaking hands, examining evidence, and the like.
As far as the crystals found in place of each body, Jim Stanton's analysis proved to be halfway correct, as the majority of the crystals were in fact pure carbon. But also among the carbon were formations of calcium, phosphorous, potassium, and many other elements, all significantly pure.
Based on the eyewitness reports of steam emanating from the dying, the logical conclusion was that this virus actually broke the body down into its inorganic building blocks, the very elements that make up everything on the planet. The steam was actually gaseous hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, the three major components of the human body.
As terrifying as it may sound, it appeared the virus' sole intent was to remove any traces of organic material from the infected, and make them as lifeless as possible. The virus was in fact, pure death.
In the end, the virus was given the code name BV, short for Breakdown Virus, so that in the case of re-emergence, subtlety could be used in handling the situation without public panic.
But the question on everyone's mind was, where did BV come from? Was Henry Solenbaum the sole mutator of the disease, a sort of breathing Pandora's Box to the world?
No, as it would turn out.
Finding Henry Solenbaum's wallet on the metal desk in his study, the investigation team was surprised to find the billfold to be swarming with BV. As it would be determined by three independent tests, one five-dollar bill tested highest for the virus, the natural cotton found in the bill's material the incubator. Its presence indicated that Henry received the bill as change from an earlier purchase, but with no receipts to be found, the team could not pinpoint where exactly the tainted bill could have been dispensed to him.
But that wasn't the troubling part.
The real issue was that BV hadn't popped up anywhere else. No store clerks, or patrons of any sort of market had contracted the disease, indicating that this bill was given to Henry with full knowledge of what it was.
This was a control test.
///
Imagine the city of Topeka, Kansas.
Population of roughly 140,000 people, approximately 1/3000 the total United States in 2028.
Now imagine that same city crowded within an area one square mile, tightly packed together to witness the annual Rose Bowl. Even standing room tickets are sold out, as the heated bowl game represents a rivalry going back to 2021, when Ohio State beat USC in double overtime. This year, the teams are back for a rematch, and the crowd is pumped and rowdy.
Keeping that all in mind, imagine what happened to Henry Solenbaum, how the infection of one person on a sparsely populated farm in Idaho ended up killing eleven more.
As the kickoff to begin the second half goes underway, the sound heard is not of frantic cheering, but frantic desperation, as people begin poofing off left and right.
Vendors, cheerleaders, fathers, sons, girlfriends, men in body paint, all disappearing off into the air like flashbulbs for a home run swing. As confusion turns to panic, the crowd begins evacuating, running hysterically to the parking lots, some not even making it to their cars before they fall in a lump of elements.
But those who do escape, they flee for safety, to where they can make a stand with their friends and family, unknowingly infecting them as well.
And so it spreads, as mere interaction with another human passes on a distorted message of death, a far more horrific version of Telephone. And all the while, carriers are being created, car seats, wooden railings, the wallets anxious looters pick up off the street.
Uninformed police officers begin herding the survivors into evacuation camps, where they spread the disease amongst new masses, and by the time anyone understand what's going on, it's far too late, and poof, poof, poof! It's a chemist's dream, mounds of pure elements everywhere.
Before you know it, 90% of the Los Angeles population is nothing but vapor, over 14 million casualties. And all the while, ignorant stragglers are escaping to further and further distances, San Diego, Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo. By 6am the next morning, BV has reached the San Francisco Bay, where the tragic cycle begins once again.
Within two days, California suffers 25 million casualties. Neighboring states are affected as well. Oregon loses 1 million. Arizona loses 2. Nevada loses 500,000.
By the end of the week, half the western United States is completely wiped out.
And during the confusion on one coast, on the other an innocent-looking man hands over a five-dollar bill, as he buys a Coke and a newspaper at a New York deli. His hand, as the clerk would notice, was strangely shiny, almost as if the man had laminated it with a sheer coat of plastic.
Before the clerk can ask, the man is out the door. He has a plane to Europe to catch.
////
I asked you before this story began, why are you alive?
The answer is because you have been given the time to be so. Every second you breathe is another second you are alive, that you possess the greatest gift man has ever received.
Twenty years from now, that gift might be taken away from you, as every bit of your being is robbed of its life, and you become the dust from which you were created.
With that said, embrace the ones you love, while it's still safe to touch another person.
Wear that favorite t-shirt you've had since college, even if it does make you look fat. You might not be able to enjoy cotton much longer.
Enjoy the simple things in life, the smell of new leather, the feel of sanded wood, the taste of an apple, picked straight from the tree. These are the things that seem the most accessible, though this may not always be the case.
So what is life?
Life is not having to fear BV. Life is being able to live.
~~~
And now, for something only slightly related:
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