[September Contest] The Box (Or 2012)

December 21st, 2012- 3:47 A.M.

An angry President Obama trudged through the frigid snows of a Himalayan mountain, back hunched against the biting wind. Stumbling every now and then from near-exhaustion, he pressed onwards.

The absurdity of his mission wasn't lost on him; in fact, no one knew better than he what an act of pure desperation this truly was. Three years ago, when everything seemed so hopeful, he could never have imagined doing anything like this, especially with so little information to rely on. But times had changed, and they had changed for the worst; if you weren't willing to fight for what was rightfully yours to own, then you had no place in the world.

The President felt the icy ground beneath his feet sharply steepen as he began what was hopefully the last stage of his journey...up the very side of the mountain.

Despite himself, Obama felt a surge of hope run through him. This is it! he thought as he quickened his step. It's just up here. A little farther and this'll all be over.

The rough and treacherous path he followed lead him up the side of the mountain--with a sheer drop of terror awaiting him on his right should he take a misstep. He did his best to fit his back to the cliff wall with arms outstretched on either side to keep balance.

As he stared down below his frozen toes at the sharp rocks waiting for him at the base of the mountainside, sudden doubt clawed at him.

What if the prophet was incorrect? Or worse, a sham? What would that mean for his country (but more importantly, for his Presidency)? What could he do then, if he didn't find what he was looking for here?

The answer was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

In all honesty, he'd never meant for it to go this far. He knew he'd been warned time and again, but back then, what did a few nuclear bombs matter? If nothing else, it taught his enemies to fear America--as they should! With one for North Korea, two for Japan, three for China and a whopping seven for those damned Russians, he thought they all would have gone scurrying away to their hidey-holes with their tails between their legs.

How wrong he'd been.

Instead, an unthinkable number of enemies and former Allies had united against the U.S. with the sole purpose to retaliate--and teach the Americans a lesson.

It didn't quite work out as Obama planned. Or rather, it went the total opposite.

Back in those days, he'd been too proud to simply admit his mistakes and accept the punishments required of him. Instead, he fought back.

Disaster ensued. Millions died in a fight that none truly understood. Lines were crossed, borders were shattered, and monarchies crumbled as the Third and final World War ran its course.

The war was relatively short, as wars go, lasting a scant two years, but both sides paid dearly for every minute spent in battle. In the first three months of warfare alone nearly twelve million died in unprecedented amounts. For two whole years this continued, until one day it simply stopped. All fighting ceased (save for minor tussles in isolated areas), with no understanding or reason why.

Innocent bystanders speculated that the leaders of both forces had made a secret pact to stop all hostility towards one another--after all, it was clear neither side would walk away with any kind of victory at the current pace of things. So it only made sense that they would see this and make an effort to control their own fury at one another. This theory, and varying forms of it, was the general consensus that the public had come to on its own.

Those higher up knew better. And the truth was, it was a stupid war; a calculated, vicious war, yes, but stupid. Both sides had suffered losses in nearly unimaginable numbers, and it would take years to repair all the damage done--physically, mentally, and politically.

So they stopped. No secret meetings took place; no new pact was formed; no treaties signed. They simply...ceased.

For some, the breaking point was the assassination of Queen Elizabeth II. For others, the controversial suicide of the Pope, whose final words before he killed himself were "Memento mori!" or "Remember your mortality." The ancient Latin saying gave pause to many.

He was broken from his musings of the past when suddenly a warm glow illuminated the snow up ahead. He quickened his pace to see it.

The light was spilling out from a natural archway carved out of the side of the mountain. Obama smiled in anticipation and stepped through the doorway.

Inside, out of the wind and snow, he was instantly warmer. He was standing in a small, circular room made of smooth stone walls. It was generally featureless, save for a large object placed squarely in the center of the room. It was from it that the golden light originated.

He took off his snow-caked gloves and he slowly walked to the box. It was larger than he thought it would be--nearly five feet across and three feet high. As he ran a hand over it, he hesitated in surprise. The material the box was made of appeared to be wood, but felt cold and smooth like metal.

Under its lid lay the solution. Whatever it may be, he needed it. Wanted it...

Time was wasting.

He braced his hands against the lid and heaved.

And the world exploded in a flash of impossible fire. Pain seared through him; pain like he'd never felt before, never imagined could exist. Light blinded him--and kept shining even in that darkness. Pure white was dark compared to this light, and he couldn't stand it. He felt his very foundations on the earth being torn to shreds and simply ceasing to exist.

What had he done?