The Dawn

[duns23]

I gazed at the scorched sky as I made my way through the remains of Times Square. The line of survivors stretched endlessly ahead, and the wary gaze of the occupiers seemed to bore into my very soul. They were beautiful, but what they had done betrayed there slender, elegant frames. I walked over the remains of the Wicked billboard, lying in the street as though predicting its eventual imprisonment in the annals of history.

 

I thought about it logically, and, though I hated it, it made sense to try and kill as many in New York as possible. Indeed, all of the major population centres. It would make us all easier to control, less of us. Why they were here remained a mystery, and some of their smaller crafts zoomed past overhead, their turquoise energy trails lighting up the heavy sky.

 

I was still in my suit, and, though I wanted to kill myself during it, I longed for the mindnumbing meeting I had been in the day before. It was warm in the conference room, and Gil Haggart, the boss, a man whose sole purpose in life was to piss me off, had been banging on about our corporate future. 'The economy is at a low ebb... we must face facts... things aren't like thy used to be'. I wasn't aware corporations existed in 1347, his heyday. He must have been at least 80, but looked as though he was old enough to have overseen the construction of the pyramids. The guys in the office were poised to jump on his chairmanship when he finally keeled over.

 

There was a great difference of opinion of how he would go. Tom Benson was convinced he'd fall off his yacht on one of his many trips to Martha's Vineyard. Paula Hayes reckoned he'd be crushed by his own filing cabinet, which contained almost every piece of paper ever produced on Earth. It had extra supports underneath it to keep it from going through the floor. It weighed at least a tonne.

 

I was personally convinced that he'd die with his dick in some rent boy's ass. He liked to f*ck young guys, and his poor wife, a tragically depressed individual, didn't have a clue. He'd conquered many an intern, and he'd even tried it on with me at a past christmas party. 'I admire a man with muscle,' he'd said, glaringly at me hopefully. 'You could go far in this company'. I smiled sweetly, leaned into him, and said, 'I can get you sex. Plenty of it. In jail. Because if you eve try it on with me again, I'll let the New York Times know all about that little account you have over on Grand Cayman'. He had a face like a slapped ass, but he had hustled off, taking great interest in a young waiter.

 

In the end, it was the filing cabinet. When the attack started, it had fallen on him. Perversely, I took great delight in seeing him squashed by the monolith. I didn't have time... to er, erm... see Paula's face. Whilst I was ducking under tables and the like she'd disappeared. Those invading vessels weaved in and out od buildings at street level, and their engines had sucked a lot of furniture and such out of the windows as they glided past. People too. I can only hope that Paula's death had been quick.

 

As I wandered along, single file of course, I pondered the question of where it was we were going. Central Park I guessed. We were headed that way, and it was a big enough area for us all I supposed. All I had to look forward to, it seemed, was what was waiting for us when we got there.