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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Flash / Mini / Very Short
- Published: 01/13/2018
The Day Paradise Quaked In Its Boots
Born 1960, M, from Bellevue/ NE, United States.jpg)
As a person who doesn't have a lot of faith in most humans, I took the opportunity to ponder (in writing) what might (fictionally) happen if a missile alert was mistakenly broadcast over the air waves in Hawaii. IT COULD HAPPEN!!! My 'dark' mind couldn't let this go without writing something.
It was a normal, beautiful day just ten minutes earlier, but after some disturbing news came on the television, Jill found herself rushing to her car. After backing out of her driveway, she looked at the row of flower pots her neighbors had placed between the walk and the road in front of their house. Jill had complained for months that the plants made it difficult to navigate into her driveway and, when in bloom, obscured her view when backing out. She smiled just before pushing the gas pedal to the floor, and running over as much of the display as she could. She snickered under her breath as she heard the pots crunching under the weight of her large SUV. "Paradise my ass", she growled as she drove towards the shelter.
Across town, Megan looked a little frenzied as she surveyed her kitchen to see if she had missed any details. Though she was grateful for the sudden opportunity, she worried that the minute and a half she had to make a plan and execute it, might leave many gaps in the 'story' she was trying to 'write'. She calmly walked out of the house, hoping and praying that, later today, the scene of her crime would be buried in ruble. Her 'abusive' husband was laying on the floor face down. He wasn't quite dead, but was bleeding so profusely, from where she bludgeoned him, that she felt he wouldn't last more than a few more minutes. As she drove toward the shelter, she saw many car wrecks. It was awful how 'some' people reacted in a crisis.
In yet another part of town, a grizzled guy in an Army jacket sat on the sidewalk in front of the liquor store. He had a quart bottle of expensive whiskey on one side of him and an open case of beer on the other. He was drinking from a can of beer as he watched the vehicular carnage happening in front of him. There were many fender benders and some of the occupants of those cars and trucks actually stopped to argue back and forth over fault. Many others just abandoned their vehicles and joined the hundreds of people running down the street. He laughed to himself as he pictured people fighting to the death for a place in the inadequate shelter that had been built for their less than affluent part of town. As he took another, long drink of his beer, the manager of the liquor store walked quietly towards the exit. His forehead was bloodied, courtesy of the 'vagrant', who had hit him with the whiskey bottle, before robbing the store. The blood was running down the manager's face and dripping off of his chin. He and the locked and loaded nine-millimeter pistol he was carrying, were about to end the life of the 'would be' robber.
Closer to the coast, Pete watched a large crowd of people, who were, just a few minutes ago, enjoying a marine life show at the aquatic center. They were running over each other; trying to get to their cars, so they could get away. Children, and even adults, were being mowed down by those who, minutes before, were gleefully watching dolphins jump around in the arena's tank. He was in shock, and thought he wanted to help, but he knew that many people lose any and all hint of their humanity, when their own lives are in danger. The police, who were present, were yelling at the crowd to no avail. Pete thought he heard them screaming something about the missile alert being a hoax or mistake.
It had only been twenty or so minutes, and many people had been injured or killed; whether by being crushed by the throngs of people trying to find shelter, or for other more nefarious reasons. All forms of media were reporting that someone in the legislature had posted a message, saying the alert was a mistake, and that everyone should relax. Jill sat in her vehicle, contemplating how much it was going to cost her to replace the many planters she had crushed earlier. Then, of course, she'd have to pay to fix the damage she had done to her 'offending' SUV. Unless, she thought, 'no one saw her do it'!
Megan's husband was sitting on a kitchen chair holding his head; his wound had almost stopped bleeding, and he was pondering what to do about his murderous wife. She considered bowling on Friday nights and leaving his socks on the hallway floor to be 'abusive' enough behavior to justify homicide. He would find, later, that he didn't have to worry about that, because she had died in a massive 'pile up' on the freeway, while fleeing something that didn't exist.
The 'public works' employee, who had started his job yesterday, shuddered at the thought that his employers had trusted him with something this important on his second day of work. Simply pushing the wrong button had begun, what turned out to be, a tragic chain of events.
Bob and June's family continued to sit at the kitchen table; praying that no one got hurt during the mistaken missile alert that had been broadcast across the Hawaiian Islands. They hadn't moved from that position, or stopped praying, since seeing the bogus alert message on the TV. They, thankfully, were the rule; not the exception, on the fateful day of the false alarm.
A few, really embarrassed public works people, and a politician or two, lost their jobs later that week. But, as the suddenly wise newscaster said on the evening news, at least the majority of people 'didn't let their self-preservation instinct override their good sense and humanity'.
The fiftieth state, it seemed, would live to fight (or panic) another day.
The Day Paradise Quaked In Its Boots(John Filkins)
As a person who doesn't have a lot of faith in most humans, I took the opportunity to ponder (in writing) what might (fictionally) happen if a missile alert was mistakenly broadcast over the air waves in Hawaii. IT COULD HAPPEN!!! My 'dark' mind couldn't let this go without writing something.
It was a normal, beautiful day just ten minutes earlier, but after some disturbing news came on the television, Jill found herself rushing to her car. After backing out of her driveway, she looked at the row of flower pots her neighbors had placed between the walk and the road in front of their house. Jill had complained for months that the plants made it difficult to navigate into her driveway and, when in bloom, obscured her view when backing out. She smiled just before pushing the gas pedal to the floor, and running over as much of the display as she could. She snickered under her breath as she heard the pots crunching under the weight of her large SUV. "Paradise my ass", she growled as she drove towards the shelter.
Across town, Megan looked a little frenzied as she surveyed her kitchen to see if she had missed any details. Though she was grateful for the sudden opportunity, she worried that the minute and a half she had to make a plan and execute it, might leave many gaps in the 'story' she was trying to 'write'. She calmly walked out of the house, hoping and praying that, later today, the scene of her crime would be buried in ruble. Her 'abusive' husband was laying on the floor face down. He wasn't quite dead, but was bleeding so profusely, from where she bludgeoned him, that she felt he wouldn't last more than a few more minutes. As she drove toward the shelter, she saw many car wrecks. It was awful how 'some' people reacted in a crisis.
In yet another part of town, a grizzled guy in an Army jacket sat on the sidewalk in front of the liquor store. He had a quart bottle of expensive whiskey on one side of him and an open case of beer on the other. He was drinking from a can of beer as he watched the vehicular carnage happening in front of him. There were many fender benders and some of the occupants of those cars and trucks actually stopped to argue back and forth over fault. Many others just abandoned their vehicles and joined the hundreds of people running down the street. He laughed to himself as he pictured people fighting to the death for a place in the inadequate shelter that had been built for their less than affluent part of town. As he took another, long drink of his beer, the manager of the liquor store walked quietly towards the exit. His forehead was bloodied, courtesy of the 'vagrant', who had hit him with the whiskey bottle, before robbing the store. The blood was running down the manager's face and dripping off of his chin. He and the locked and loaded nine-millimeter pistol he was carrying, were about to end the life of the 'would be' robber.
Closer to the coast, Pete watched a large crowd of people, who were, just a few minutes ago, enjoying a marine life show at the aquatic center. They were running over each other; trying to get to their cars, so they could get away. Children, and even adults, were being mowed down by those who, minutes before, were gleefully watching dolphins jump around in the arena's tank. He was in shock, and thought he wanted to help, but he knew that many people lose any and all hint of their humanity, when their own lives are in danger. The police, who were present, were yelling at the crowd to no avail. Pete thought he heard them screaming something about the missile alert being a hoax or mistake.
It had only been twenty or so minutes, and many people had been injured or killed; whether by being crushed by the throngs of people trying to find shelter, or for other more nefarious reasons. All forms of media were reporting that someone in the legislature had posted a message, saying the alert was a mistake, and that everyone should relax. Jill sat in her vehicle, contemplating how much it was going to cost her to replace the many planters she had crushed earlier. Then, of course, she'd have to pay to fix the damage she had done to her 'offending' SUV. Unless, she thought, 'no one saw her do it'!
Megan's husband was sitting on a kitchen chair holding his head; his wound had almost stopped bleeding, and he was pondering what to do about his murderous wife. She considered bowling on Friday nights and leaving his socks on the hallway floor to be 'abusive' enough behavior to justify homicide. He would find, later, that he didn't have to worry about that, because she had died in a massive 'pile up' on the freeway, while fleeing something that didn't exist.
The 'public works' employee, who had started his job yesterday, shuddered at the thought that his employers had trusted him with something this important on his second day of work. Simply pushing the wrong button had begun, what turned out to be, a tragic chain of events.
Bob and June's family continued to sit at the kitchen table; praying that no one got hurt during the mistaken missile alert that had been broadcast across the Hawaiian Islands. They hadn't moved from that position, or stopped praying, since seeing the bogus alert message on the TV. They, thankfully, were the rule; not the exception, on the fateful day of the false alarm.
A few, really embarrassed public works people, and a politician or two, lost their jobs later that week. But, as the suddenly wise newscaster said on the evening news, at least the majority of people 'didn't let their self-preservation instinct override their good sense and humanity'.
The fiftieth state, it seemed, would live to fight (or panic) another day.
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