Although it may not seem like Sci-Fi, I feel it is. Based on the competition rules, it had to be about an island. Usually, to get some good inspiration, I'll read some Bradbury for metaphors and such. But I suddenly thought to write a 1950's "nukes are bad" stories after reading a few of Ray's stories. The dichotomy of having something so terrible on an island so beautiful is a perfect metaphor. But enough talking; to the story!
“Are you ready?”
David Hahn looked at his assistant with stone eyes. He was never good at lying, especially about where he was or where he was going. Thinking about that, he realized that it was his poor lying skills that brought him to his current position. But now he needed to focus on getting off the boat and onto that island.
“Fuchs, I’m the man who’s heading this entire test. I’ve got to be ready. You know the bomb is going off tomorrow because we need to make sure that it can stay withstand the elements for a long time, in case the US needs a safe place to keep them while the hell is bombed out the states.”
Fuchs nodded his head in disappointment. Hahn knew that the only reason Fuchs was for the explosion. Fuchs had missed the Project Trinity explosion, and knew that this may be his only chance. He also got very sea sick, which, for a week, is one of the most terrible things a man has to endure.
Hahn checked his watch and turned away from the lab assistant in a veiled attempt of lying. “I’m going to bed. Could you just run that last test in the lab for me?”
Fuchs agreed, downtrodden by the fact that he had to vomit for another twelve hours before he could see the terribly awesome explosion.
David suddenly turned around and solemnly said “And whatever happens, the show much go on.”
The lab assistant stood and stared at Hahn before slowly repeating “the show must go on.”
Hahn walked away without any intentions to fall asleep, at least for now. Quietly, he walked to the edge of the small boat, which bobbed in the small waves of the Pacific Ocean. He looked about himself, trying to avoid the suspicions of the guards. With one last look, he clumsily flopped into the life boat clinging to the edge. David stayed low for a few minutes before slowly lowering himself into the cold, dark waters of the night.
David pushed himself way from the boat, rocking the boat sideways as it struggled to begin its final journey.
He paddled all night, fighting the overwhelming resistance of the water, trying to pull him back towards the boat. The water would not allow him to abandon the progress he has made in the nuclear sciences. The water would not allow him to reverse his once held belief that his research was good. The water would not allow him to destroy himself.
Hahn reached the island at daybreak. Exhausted, his un-athletic frame dragged itself onto the beach. He shoved the rowboat into the open water, trapping himself on the doomed island. David wearily dragged himself into the foliage and disappeared underneath the canopy of brush to sleep.
-----
David Hahn woke up hours later, the sun shining bright through the green leaves and pastel colors of the forest. He stood up, stretched, and set off.
He wandered around the in amazement, marveling at the lush flora engulfing him. He walked in udder silence, partially afraid to wake the dormant island, but also in sincere reverence for the magical depths it contained.
He stumbled his way along, delving deeper and deeper into the island, finding more and more secrets it has held for innumerable centuries. He soon began to make stories for the plants, personifying them into friends to take along on his walk. That tree, that one over there, it was lonely; nothing of its kind is near, nor will it ever be. Those plants, the ones huddled together beneath the shade of the pua keni keni, they’re conducting a secret meeting to overthrow the biggest one, their King.
On and on Hahn went, walking in circles and thinking of new storylines to add to his mythology until he had a Shakespearean drama. He went on for hours, epic battles and undiscovered love triangles playing in the theater of his mind. Soon, however, the holocaust was brought to the island. Rocks and boulders were tossed from trebuchets and vine whips were cracked. The doves fled quickly, their cries falling on a people without ears. Plants and trees on both sides were knocked over, crushed, trampled, all in the name of the other side.
David ran away, attempting to flee the destruction he had created, but it was never far behind, clawing at his heels. Suddenly he stopped as the soldiers fought on, edging closer to him as the generals looked for more to demolish, more to kill, more to trample over.
David Hahn was frozen in front of a bush bathed in blood. Its leaves, its stems, its roots were drenched in a deep crimson overflowing on to the surrounding plants. It was the color of greed, of envy, of hate, of joy, of sorrow, of love, of passion. It smelled of lust and death, of power, of doom, of creativity and effigy. Its voluminous scarlet leaves were brushed with all the great fires of all the history of all the world. Its thin, fragile stem was constantly growing, creating a tangled spider web of past failures, successes and draws. This bush of fire and blood had become so old, it had fallen on its primal instincts, continuously reaching out and raping all that was around.
The stranger dropped to his knees in awe and shame of this plant.
“Oh Humanity!” he cried to the bush, “Oh Mankind! What have you done?! What have you become!?”
His voice softened to a whisper as the battle behind raged on, cracks of rifles and cries of the infantry as they fell.
“What have you done to me?” he pleaded faintly.
He tilted his head back, looking for Shiva, God, Allah, Yemen, Anubis. Yet all he saw was the tall metal tower, standing strong against the machine guns and artillery in the trenches far below. Suspended from that tower sat the human scientist’s God of Death. It hung there, never swaying, never shaking, never moving. The black metal shell reflected the world in its eyes.
David held his gaze to the god for a long time, even as shouts of German, Japanese, English and Russian resounded against his ear drums. Slowly he brought his eyes back to the plant.
Although only a slight breeze had winded its way through the jungle, the bush threatened to become uprooted, straining to stay connected to the island, to stay in control of the chaos encircling Hahn. A siren sounded, long and dreadful, warning of the impeding doom David was about to face. He looked at Humanity earnestly, asking it one final question:
“Are you ready?”
)** silence, partially afraid to wake the dormant island **(?)**, but also in sincere reverence for the magical depths it contained.
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