Zook's Short Stories!

[Zook]

Decided with all the time I've had to work on story ideas, etc. that I'd be typing some up and putting them on AWR for critiquing and whatnot. Some, probably the first 5, will be for the AWR MoP competition. After that, they're just little things that popped into my head.

::Stories::

- A Calm Summer Night (Pg. 1; Reply 1)
- A Timeless Debate (Page 1; Reply 2)
- The Great Fire (Page 1; Reply 13)

[Zook]

So! First piece I'm putting up here is something based on the play we're performing in school, called Richard Cory. It's an interesting play about how someone's outward appearance can be deceiving. The short story I've prepared is based on the conclusion of the story of Richard Cory (which isn't an actual part in the production). Beneath is the poem that the play is based on, to help you get an idea of what goes on. Enjoy!

Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown
We people on the pavement looked at him
He was a gentleman from sole to crown
Clean-favored and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed
And he was always human when he talked
But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good morning,"
And he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich
Yes, richer than a king
And admirably schooled in every grace
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked
And waited for the light
And went without meat, and cursed the bread
And Richard Cory, one calm Summer night
Went home, and put a bullet through his head.

~ Edwin Arlington Robinson

A Calm Summer Night

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown, he was sure to have two items on his person that he was never seen without: his hat, a gift from his father who had passed some time back, and a brilliantly crafted cane made of cast iron and headed by an eagle with wings out-stretched.

Though he was no longer inclined to go downtown, he had been unable to resist the call of habit when he was stepping out of his front door. A moment's hesitation was all he gave before promptly returning inside and placing his hat on his head and holding his cane in his right hand, his fingers curled tightly around the eagle.

Outside his home, the sun was setting and a brilliant array of violet blots danced on the horizon. It looked, he thought, like a drunken Picasso had taken his brush and gone to work on the skies themselves; his strokes were neither calculated or pristine. In fact, each seemed to be a portrait unto itself, telling a vibrant tale that could not be mimicked by any other such blot.

For some strange reason, the scene before him did little to brighten his mood and his expression remained impassive as he took the steps from his porch to the lawn one at a time; his steps heavy and loud enough for the wood to give an audible creak when he shifted his weight from leg to leg on them.

When he had made his way to the ground, he took a string of long strides and found himself in the center of his mansion's ground -- right next to the stone fountain displaying some saint or another holding a bible as water trickled continuously down the stones upon which the sculpted man had been sat by the artist who designed the thing.

In a way the water reminded Richard Cory of the people he had come to know over the last several months that lived and worked in the downtown. No matter what the weather happened to be on any given day or what person or groups thereof attempted to watch and single out any single miniature waterfall, the droplets continued falling. They never stopped, they never worried what was going on around them; they just did what they were supposed to do.

Before Richard Cory had begun to make an effort to spend more time downtown with the people there, they had been a fountain themselves. Their droplets fell in predictable patterns, each and every day. Their waterfalls never strayed from the path outlined for them by their creator. They knew what was expected of them and they were eager to do it until the end of their days.

But Richard Cory had, in fact, decided that a life more focused around the comings and going of the men and women who lived downtown would be more fulfilling and interesting than the one he had previously been living. That was a life of taking yearly trips up to the island resort with his wife, Emily, and their children; it was a life he no longer desired. While the trips had been fun, after a period of time, doing the same thing year after year became more of a responsibility than something he looked forward to. This was one of the reasons he had elected to spend his Summer downtown, traveling up to the island only when he had no other choice.

In all, he had made no trips to the island since May and it was almost the end of August. His birthday would be coming up in a few days, but he was well aware that he would not be able to attend the celebration that his wife had almost certainly prepared for him. Fate, it seemed, had other plans for him.

And fate! What a cruel, strange thing it was. While no superstitious man, Richard Cory could not claim that his son's handling of the gun that had been placed in a drawer in Richard's office desk -- a gun that he had long since forgotten about, so little were the chances of him ever having to use it -- was anything but fate. Fate had granted him a few months that had allowed him to experience every human emotion known to man, and for that he was grateful. Maybe not pleased, but grateful.

Love and lust were things that had tugged at his heart as he spoke with the lovely and seductive Louise, a young woman who had made a point of chipping away at the walls he had built around himself to avoid succumbing to anyone's charm but Emily's. At this point, he was only a little disappointed in himself having not had the willpower to turn her down. After all, if he had been strong enough to say no, how dull those lazy afternoons would have been in between cases and working hours.

Jealousy and anger had walked hand-in-hand with him as he had heard his wife all but say she would spend her nights with Ted Babcock if he could not be bothered to show up on the island with her and her children; anger, because it hurt to hear her say the words and Ted was a good friend, and jealousy for obvious reasons.

Fear had played a prominent role in his conversations with his friend Charlotte who had fought so, so hard to become more than that; he had feared he would accept her proposal, feared that he would have taken her in his arms and kissed her again as he had done the year before. He had been afraid of so many things about Charlotte, but no he wished he had been more open. She had, after all, been such a good friend.

The times when he had been frustrated and amused were a little harder to pin-point. When he had spoken to his doctor about the perpetual ache that had plagued his every thought and action for some time now, the man had laughed off his patient's concern and told him how unfair it was that not everyone could be in as good a shape as Richard Cory way. There had also been frustration when he had nearly broke down around his assistant, Eddie, as he told him how he had canceled his family's plans for the Summer.

Amusement had come at seeing Frank the elevator man and Louise interacting with one another in the mornings and at night. Though the girl opposed Frank's advances, Richard was almost certain the two would end up together; it may not be love for Louise, but she wanted a man more than she wanted a fairy tale ending and the elevator man was surprisingly available and committed to her. Richard Cory, on the other hand, was not. At the risk of compromising his emotional integrity, he privately admitted he had been unable to fully hide the smirk that had come up to the surface.

Other emotions had come in at random intervals, never lasting more than a few brief moments: pride when he saw Eddie sneaking glances at him, his expression mimicking the awe one felt when in the presence of their own mortal god; nostalgia when he spoke with Ted and Slip at the club for the last time; duty when he heard that his newspaper man Joe wasn't selling enough to feed his family and contentment when he helped the man out by paying triple the going rate for an issue of the New York Times.

While he had been going over the emotional ups and downs of the Summer, calling on memories that he had made at the club with Ted, in bed with Louise, on the veranda with Emily, and on the elevator with Frank, nearly a quarter of an hour had come and gone.

In the distance, the sun had begun to sink even further beneath the horizon, bathing the city in an eerie golden light. From his vantage point on Holloway Hill, Richard was almost certain that no single part of the place where he had lived for all his life looked quite so beautiful as the downtown. Gazing down at it, he tried to tack the mental image he had formulated in his mind so that he would not forget it.

Turning away from the picturesque sight, Richard returned to his house. As he walked, he tried to imagine what all the friends he had made were doing at this moment. His imagination had Louise kissing Frank good night on her front porch and then leading him inside for something more; he saw Emily and Ted sitting on the deck of Ted's boat, toasting the Summer and he could not help but make sure that Emily gazed off into the distance toward where he was and allowed herself a moment to think of the husband who waited for her at home; he saw Joe tucking his two young boys into bed and then going downstairs to try and think of more articles for the next issue of the paper; Chip, his son, sat on a train heading west, beside a charming young woman whom he would marry in the future as he made a name for himself doing whatever he set his mind to; and then, finally, he focused solely on himself.

In the pocket of his waistcoat, a revolver that had been recovered from a Civil War-era battlefield rested snugly against his chest. It had been a constant reminder to him this evening of what he was leaving behind and why he had to do it. Though it couldn't have weighed more than a couple of pounds fully loaded, the weapon felt as though it were heavier than he was and the thought of the bullets resting in its chamber made his heart sink. What he had to do was not pleasant, but it was necessary. And that is why he would do it.

Once he was inside, he closed the front door and placed his cane on the holder that had been crafted for it by a woodworker in the city and removed his hat, placing it on the rack his grandfather had bought after coming to America.

Wasting no time, he moved through the house, up two flights of stairs to the top story of his home, and made his way to the study. On his way, he did not so much as glance at the door to the master bedroom, the room where his daughter had slept since her birth, or what had been Chip's room until earlier that afternoon.

Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he settled into the chair that was placed in the center of the room behind a great oak desk with a scattered assortment of legal papers. When he was ready, he reached into his coat and pulled the gun out at a snail's pace. There was no sense, he thought, in rushing. Richard Cory had to savor his last few minutes on this planet.

On the desk was a rag that had been used when he cleaned the gun earlier and reloaded it, and after a moment he decided to leave it there. Though he knew the truth, the officials and the like could not be left any evidence that would make them believe someone other than Richard had done this. None of his friends downtown deserved to be put through such turmoil. So, he would allow them to believe it had happened while he was cleaning the weapon.

A brief hesitation was all the time he gave himself before raising the gun to his temple and pulling back the hammer on its rear. Closing his eyes, he thought about all he had done in the last several months and about all the lives he had changed -- for better or worse.

Then, in a brief, brilliant flash of gunpowder and blood, Richard Cory's perpetual ache -- the one he had gone to the doctor for time and again -- was taken away and he passed on into oblivion.

He had no regrets.

[Zook]

A Timeless Debate

On May 19, 2272, a single event made the front page of almost every newspaper in the country. Though the authors varied, as did their views on the topic that was discussed, almost all could agree that it was a sad, sad day when a man and a woman would go so far as to break the single law that every human in every part of the world understood was unbreakable.

Some bought the morning paper and sighed, reading about their claims of 'love' and how what they had done was 'natural' in their eyes and in the eyes of their God. 'Perhaps,' said a man as a friend of his leafed through the paper alongside him; 'What they did was natural some great expanse of time ago, but no more. Bunch o' sickos...' After that, he had spit on the ground and turned to the Sports section to discover what team had been victorious in the most recent baseball game.

Others purchased it and stared at the picture of the two young people who were calling themselves lovers and smiled. They understood the feelings that the two in question were preaching about and they would, as all things, pass in time. If the pair had been able to keep themselves in check during the uncomfortable time where these feelings simmered to the surface, then they could have outgrown them and met someone more suited for themselves and then lived happily ever after.

But instead they had acted on these feelings, and that had made all the difference. 'How could they have done such a thing?!' cried a man in a supermarket parking lot; 'What were they thinking? It isn't right! It isn't done! It's not natural, and their claims of it being such are as ludicrous as the act itself! Bah!'

Word reached Earth's city situated on its moon twenty-four hours after it went global planet-side. Those who read about it there merely shrugged and tossed the paper that they had been looking at into the garbage bin before turning to their boy- and girlfriends and saying, 'Can you believe what they're doing down there now? We're so much better off away from that nasty old planet. Luna has been so good for you, me, and us.'

There were also a small group of people -- no more than one hundred or so on any given continent -- who had performed the ancient act themselves and could not rightly pass judgment on others, and so ignored the articles and their friends who hurled accusation at two people whom they did not know because of something as humane as love and as human as a simple mistake.

John, the man in this criminal partnership, declined an interview and was quoted only as saying that it was love, that the Old Bible -- the one that had existed before the government had altered it -- had decreed it as right and natural as well. He said that he loved his girl, his Elena, and that he did not regret what he did and he would not apologize.

'It's not done in a normal relationship,' he said; 'But I do not care. Quite obviously, ours is not a normal relationship. I do not care if this does not happen every day and it is of no concern to me if people half a world away wish to condemn me to Hell for something that was mine and my Elena's choice. There was a time when this was encouraged, and I can promise that time will come again.'

That was on the way to the county jail where he was being held until the court came to a verdict. There had been concern that prejudiced guards would get to him before the word of the Law, so the usual flesh-and-blood men who were appointed to watch criminals during controversial cases were replaced with guard bots who cared not what the people in question had done and were concerned only with getting their charge to and from the court room at the appropriate times in one piece.

Elena, on the other hand, appeared on the Oprah show as Oprah IV's (the fourth clone of its progenitor) special guest and had an entire viewing day devoted to her on the Oprah network. She answered any and all questions, which ranged from 'How did it feel?' to 'Why would you degrade yourself like that, you filthy whore?' And she did it all with a smile, never once allowing a cruel word to break through her wall of charisma.

When she was in between shows, she was kept under lock and key, never very far away from her guards. There were times when she wished she were with John, but for the most part she enjoyed herself immensely. In the space of two weeks, she appeared on eight different talk-shows and met a variety of celebrities at parties she was invited to. People she had grown up idolizing were now interested in her life, and she sponged up the glory.

Jakob Hanes, president of the United States, heard about the case and made it a point to call a press conference as soon as his schedule allowed, during which he made a number of statements which he had hoped would put the people's nerves at rest.

'This will not be allowed,' he called, eliciting a short burst of applause from the reporters and whatnot who had gathered there; 'We are America and a crime of this magnitude shall not go unpunished! The land of the free and the home of the brave has not condoned this barbaric behavior since the Flash-Growth system was developed to aid us in maintaining a society that had become overpopulated to a severe degree! I will sleep well this evening knowing that I made the decision that if these evildoers are not given an appropriate sentence by their jury, then I will give them one myself!' Another round of applause. The cameras faded to black and the president left, holding his husband's hand as they returned to the limo that returned them to the White House.

Soon after, court convened and the John and Elena were brutally interrogated before the jury left the room to cast their vote. It took all of ten minutes for them to make a decision, and when they returned and uttered the word 'guilty' people watching at home and those in the court room along with the defendants cheered. The American legal system had pulled through, as they had assumed it would, and this great injustice had been righted.

The two were sentenced to life in a correctional facility where they would be reconditioned until their thinking was more appropriate for the views held by society, and when they were thinking properly, they would be allowed a single mate from the other prisoners in the asylum where they would eventually die if the court had its way.

'Good,' muttered the man who had spoken with his friend about this injustice when it had first appeared in his morning paper.

'Hoorah!' cried the man who had stood in the parking lot, cheering and doing a little hop-skip about his living room as pride in his country overwhelmed him.

Those few who had partaken in this forbidden fruit themselves merely watched from their spouse's side, trying to hide the tears that welled up in their eyes as they watched the two lovers paraded out of the court room to thunderous applause. A few locked themselves up and did not come out for some time, so great was their shame.

When word reached the president, he kissed his husband and threw his hands up in the air, praising the Lord with a boisterous, 'Hallelujah!'

Luna's inhabitants watched with emotional detatchment, sickened at the thought of the unnatural act the couple had committed, but unsure whether or not they should honestly care one way or another, as this did not affect them in any way at all. They did not live on Earth and so, its people and their lives meant nothing to them in the long run.

A world-famous author visited both John and Elena six months after they were placed in their respective asylums and wrote book entitled 'A Timeless Debate: The Turned Tables of American Society' in which he stated that each of them were coming along nicely as they were reconditioned (he used the word 'groomed' for poetic purposes) and that they would be 'normal' within another half year of treatment.

"Both of them," he had written with a sort of pride in the two when they had admitted what had occurred had been a mistake; "Realize what they have done and are working to correct what they consider to be their greatest mistake. John, 19 now, says that love could never exist in an intimate way between a man and a woman in the society we all live in, and that the old ways had been replaced in favor of Flash-Growth for a reason. Elena, also 19, says she understands what she did was wrong and is looking forward to a life with someone of her own gender. She said to me when I visited, the following: 'Intercourse, amazing as it is, is something that should exist only between two of the same sex. If a man were to lie with a woman, he would surely be damning them both to Hell with his actions and he deserves whatever he gets.'"

The book sold more copies than any other in history, aside from the Bible, and readers smiled in contempt as they read how the two had seen the error of their ways. Some contemplated the title and approved: whereas homosexuality was something that had once been frowned upon by the global community, it had become a necessity to keep the world balanced. Anyone participating in heterosexual intercourse was attempting to disrupt that delicate balance and deserved to spend time in a correctional facility.

And so, the world forgot about John and Elena over time and when they were released early from their imprisonment, the two were illegally married and bought separate apartments, just close enough to one another for romantic evenings to be shared in private with no chance of looking like more than old friends paying one another a visit.

Try as they might, government officials never caught them in the act again, and they lived happily ever after. On their deathbeds, they would admit to their friends what they had done and said that the country was founded on three unalienable rights: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

They had tried to live a life together, and were forced to give up part of their life to be 'fixed' by a world that saw them as improper; they had been stripped of their freedom by a government that did not want to be seen as liberal and could not bear the thought of people different from themselves; the pursuit of happiness had landed them in this predicament to begin with.

So, their final breath was used to curse America and its government, a government that now supported what once it had scorned, and was only willing to protect the rights of it's citizens so long as they conformed to a normality defined by people who could not even truly fit the definition of 'normal' themselves.

God bless America.

(( Not sure how pleased I am with this, so I might go through and edit it later on. But, for now, I'd love some feedback on how this came across. ))

[Jenny (Reffy)]

((I'm not very good at reviewing - just so you know - since I have never commented on your stuff before. Oh, and I usually do this as I go, so you should be able to track my comments! Hehe

A Calm Summer Night

- Loved the beginning sentence: Whenever Richard Cory went downtown, he was sure to have two items on his person

- Unfortunately the sentence went on way too long (made it difficult to read!) his hat, a gift from his father when he was in the awkward period of time one always went through when transitioning from brooding teenager to accomplished adult, and his cane, which was over a meter in length and made from polished iron and headed by a silver eagle that was made to look like it was perched on the cane with wings outstretched. Probably could have separated the items, or the explanation for them.

- Loved the description of the scene! Picasso is awesome

- Some of the beginning paragraphs were mega-short. Dunno if this was intended or not? Just seemed like a few could have been merged?

- In a way, the water reminded Richard Cory ... was that comma needed? I'm really bad at comma-punctuation stuff but this jumped out at me. It made a pause but the reader would have a brain-pause without it too.

- I really liked the waterfall thing. The way the people acted and comparing them to water-drops that fall in the same place each day.

- There is another long-running sentence. I think this might be a problem-area for you (if you don't mind me saying so!) starts: But Richard Cory had, in fact
(Not going to point them all out after this one ... just incase there are any more.)

- I liked the humanity you showed! The emotions that you touched on - especially his jealousy and anger at Ted.

- It feels very epilogue (which is partly intended since this is after the screen-play!)

- I liked the use of ; something ; something. It really tied things off.

All in all a good piece. Very sad too. Didn't make me cry. I think it evoked feelings for those stuck with a problem.))

[Zook]

(( Thank you, Reffy!

I went through and worked a bit on the run-on sentences (and yes, that is a problem for me) and whatnot. Going to go and look at the beginning paragraphs a little later to see what I can see. :3 ))

[Jenny (Reffy)]

((2nd story coming up :] Thank you for another MoP review point! Hehe!

A Timeless Debate
[Not doing the "as-I-read-thing" this time ... mostly because I don't want to repeat anything I said last time! So this is more an over-view.]

I really liked this story! The topic was a good one and well thought out. It was interesting to see how backwards the future in your World was, and how uncaring everybody had become. Yet there were people who supported the act in their hearts. I enjoyed seeing peoples reactions to the newspaper - it built up the World nicely. I liked how the couple were still happy with what they had done, and only said what they did to get out of the correctional facility - then went on to live "close" to each other. It was like a "middle-finger" to the future Gov X]

Only thing I found a "turn-off" was a couple of the first few paragraphs. They were very sketchy about the information - which I believe may have been intended - so no worries there! I just wanted more information than you were willing to give at the time. I like the idea of hinting early, but revealing later. It kept me reading - which is what it should do!

Also, I think you should have left out the Moon-thing (Just my opinion!) I didn't really understand the importance of having it in the story? Maybe I'm missing something but it just seemed to be tacked-on for the sake of making it Sci-Fi/Futuristic, which you probably could have done with dates or technology mentions.

The message was loud and clear! Excellent piece of writing.))

[Zook]

(( Reffy, if you keep reviewing, I am more than happy to help you get all the points you could ever desire. It's a lot more fulfilling to try this stuff if I think someone might actually read it and give me pointers!

The Moon portion was supposed to represent something, but I didn't write the segments well enough to get my point across, so I'm either going to go over it and revise it so it's a bit more obvious as to what I was trying to include, or simply delete them.

As to the first few paragraphs: When I was writing them, I wasn't sure what I was going to be aiming for in the long run, but I wanted to make sure I didn't let too much out in the beginning, simply because I was unable to decide when I wanted the full extenr of the situation to be revealed. I'll probably end up revising those as well.

Thank you so, so much for the advice! Very helpful! And much appreciated!! ))

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(( Glad you are finding the comments helpful and that "by-proxy" I am helping you keep up the writing/productivity!

Wishing I'd gone with the Short Stories option now too! I could have written a bunch of them with relative ease ... probably >.> ))

[Zook]

(( Blargh! Haven't had time to write in the past few days, but I'm hoping to have something new up this weekend, for any of you actually paying attention to what I post. I've been working on descriptive details an' all, so I hope what I have in mind'll work out and not seem too terrible.

There probably wasn't even a point to this post, other than that I -really- wanted an excuse to type something on here while I have a minute. ))

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(( YAY Zook is still alive Looking forward to the new story! You should check out my Newest Flash Fictions too
I'm probably going to start work on a story myself today! I've had a lot of boredom and downtime that needs soaking up! Hehe ))

[Zook]

(( Yes, yes, Reffy, I live. And I actually got the urge to write some things today, so I've worked on them a smidge. Hopefully posting a few things in the next couple of days.

And I will certainly check out your stuffz. Gotta run right now, but when I get back, I'm-a do it! ))

[theredbaron]

Looking forward, bro.

*thumbs up*

[Zook]

Good God! I've missed this place! I've been so damn busy! But I'm here now with some new ideas to toy with that I hope to have available for your viewing -- and critiquing -- pleasure soon. Much <3! It's great to be back.

[Zook]

(( So, this is a terribly unfinished and unrefined prologue to something I've been messing with. I don't know if this will go any further, I don't know if the end draft will be anything like this, but here's the first attempt. And I noticed the second part wasn't quite up to my standards, so I might alter it later on by adding some to it, etc. But... Here's what I've got for now. Enjoy! ))

Prologue: The Great Fire

Fifty-nine-point-six-seven miles beneath the Earth’s surface, a doctor paced irritably. The year was 2999 A.D., but the clock was ticking and men and women across the globe were staring at television and computer screens, portable viewing devices, and all sorts of other technological wonders as a digital readout ticked in Times Square, New York; it counted down the few remaining moments of the second millennia, soon to give way to the third.

Like all those surface-dwellers, popping the tops off their bottles of champagne and gurgling in unabashed delight as the clock in Times Square showed the time down to the last millisecond, the doctor watched as well. In one hand, he held tightly to a bottle of Jack Daniel’s; in the other, he clasped a Bible bound with leather and filled with something unheard of in this day and age: paper and ink. But the Bible, this relic of the past, garnered none of his attention. Instead, he focused intently on the clock just above his fireplace. Focused, watched, and waited.

Behind him, three pod-like contraptions rested, each connected to dozens of tubes that disappeared into either the floor, or the ceiling. All three of them were nearly two-and-a-half meters tall, created with a matte-black metal and situated nearly four feet away from one another so that if one were to view them from an aerial perspective, they would form the tips of an equilateral triangle. About two meters from the bottom on each of these pods was a small window, tinted black and covered in a thin layer of ice. The doctor turned toward these for a moment, raised his bottle of whiskey, then turned again and looked up at the clock.

“Three minutes to the show, boys!” he called in a raspy voice that sounded as though it had passed through sandpaper somewhere in between his voice-box and his lips. “Mustn’t be late, eh?” continued the man, turning off the television set by tapping a button on a chair resting a few feet from the viewing screen.

Some forty feet behind the pods were a pair of heavy metal doors with a thin space between them and no handles. The wall to the right of the doors, carved from stone and sweating moisture had a small panel attached to it with an incandescent blue button pulsing wildly and protected from the humid atmosphere by a hinged glass case.

Traipsing across the cavernous expanse of nothingness, the doctor took a moment to admire the only things in the room aside from himself, his chair, and his television. There was an almost musical quality to the humming each one emitted, caused by the vibrations formed as energy coursed through their mechanical exteriors. A few switches and lights could be found around the edges of them, but all but a few were turned off and dormant.

Grinning, the doctor patted one affectionately as he passed, muttering, “You’re going to do great things, ‘right? Better’n this world of ours deserves, and that’s the truth of the matter! I’ll be keeping an eye on you, sir, so make an old man proud, ‘right? ‘Right.” With that, he strode up to the doors and opened the glass box housing the button. With his right index finger he lightly tapped it, eliciting a groan from somewhere behind the wall of rock as wheels and cogs began to spin. The doors opened and the doctor stepped through them.
While standing on the other side, he sighed and turned back toward his creations. The lights in the cavern flickered and for a moment, he worried that all his hard work might have been for naught. If the power were to fail, everything he had done would have been a waste. Then, with another smile he realized that he wouldn’t even be around to care.

Shrugging his shoulders, he tapped a button identical to the original one, but situated on the other side of the doors. Another groan and they slid shut. Glancing down at the Bible in his hand, the doctor chuckled and tossed it to the ground, wondering whether or not it would be found and if it could, or would, be put to any use.

Taking a long, deep drink of his alcohol, the man pulled the container away at the last minute, spattering his worn features and shaggy gray beard with the mixture. Hurling the container at a nearby wall, the doctor listened as each piece of glass clattered harmlessly to the ground, now saturated with the last bit of whiskey he ever intended to see. Then, turning on his heel, he went over to a clear tube marked ‘TRANSPORTATION’ and stepped inside.

Immediately, the air within grew thick and he fought to breathe as pressure began to build around his chest. In some part of his brain, he was aware that he beginning to rise from the floor at an alarming rate and every primal urge in his body screamed for him to find a way to make it stop and find solid ground on which to plant his feet. But he ignored it and continued to rise, and rise, and rise…

**

Ninety-seven seconds later, the clock struck twelve and the television in the underground laboratory flared to life; it was the result of either another one of the places odd electrical nuances or just dumb luck, and though there was no one awake to watch it, the images shown by it were reflected off the icy windows on the foremost of the pods.

A ball dropped in New York, exploding and littering the ground with confetti and small treats for the children gathered there. Jets on loan from the Air Force shot through the sky, the trails of smoke that burst forth from their rear ends coloring the night sky red, white, and blue. An American flag appeared on the screen behind the open ball and the national anthem began to play.

The cameras zeroed in on young couples embracing and pressing their lips together in the great passion that only an event such as the one being experienced could elicit. The moment seemed almost surreal, and in many ways it was, because that was when the fire descended from the heavens and devoured everything those celebrating knew, cared for, or thought of being.

It started out with a single streak of light, so insignificant that many saw it as nothing more than a shooting star; then it came closer, and closer, and closer. The first thing to come crashing down was a New York skyscraper. Then another one of the molten projectiles crashed into Big Ben in London, and another into the Statue of Liberty, and one more into one of Egypt’s pyramids, until, soon, all the world’s greatest testaments to mankind’s legacy were aflame.

Entire cities were swept away and millions were dead in the blink of an eye. The flames ravaged the world and gave no inclination of stopping until everything was gone and Earth was a barren wasteland, devoid of life. But, like all things, they came to an end. And, demonstrating humanity’s ability to overcome even the greatest challenge, from the ashes of civilization and the end of the Age of Technology, some things survived…

[Kaez]

Since Ref covered the others, I'll just get to this recent one.

It was... interesting. My problems are thus:

-- Some things seem unlikely for a 2999 setting. Like, television sets? -Really-? Only 80 years after TV was invented, we're already watching most of it on computers. I don't see TV sets lasting another 910 years.

-- Is everything blowing up... because of something the old fellow has done? It's not very clear that's the case, but I'm assume that's it. Though if you're suggesting he has underground tubes going to all of those locations, again, we're far away from realism. Especially considering '3000' is an utterly arbitrary date to anyone but a very loyal Christian -- to anyone else, these years really mean nothing.

The writing wasn't bad, though it didn't have me terribly excited, it's just the specifics of the story that seem kind of flawed to me. Sci-fi is tough for those not extremely familiar with technology and physics, in my experience.