Final War - The Forgotten

They say the shackles that bind us are emotional, and until they are broken we are all slaves to him. That in this dark place, there still remains hope and through time, the light shines brightly. They tell us that it can't rain all the time and that one day the sun will emerge from the clouds.

In the mean time, we wander in the ash and darkness among the ruins of great cities and the twisted spaghetti of jungle gyms and swing sets. In the mean time the thunder rolls in the heaven of black clouds and the rain is white and it floats down to the surface like snow. In the mean time, the scars of our actions continue to bleed the earth. In the mean time, we wait for a bird to chirp and we wander around to get a glimpse of a weed in the dirt below us.

We were God's chosen. Those who He loved were the first to leave this world, they were the lucky ones. We are God's chosen, so the priest told us. We were chosen and we served a purpose. Some of us believed the chosen the priest spoke of had already left this world. We were forgotten, left behind, that was the belief many had in the congregation. The endless landscape of death and destruction, the infinite night, the darkness among us reminds us of our hollow life. Our soulless purpose in the scars of war reminded us that we were not God's chosen. God has abandoned us. We are the forgotten.

This is my confession for the sins I have committed, the evil I am doing, the things that I will do. In a world without hope, there isn't much to live for but selfishness, self preservation. This is not the world you remember and this is beyond nightmares you could possibly imagine. I do not live in your shoes, but if I did, I would envy and look away. This is a world unlike yours and it is better to be ignorant of it. Leave us forgotten. We are God's abandoned for a reason. Amen.

My name is Nathaniel Harris but after the world ended, my name was merely Nate. After the world came to its knees and the blue sky forever hid behind black clouds, I still believed. I believed there was purpose for me, I was hopeful and I was proud. I could make a difference, so they told me. I joined with several survivors of the end and we became known as Saint Paul's Apostles. Our leader was a devout Catholic who brought us in to his church. The basement was massive and protected from the elements of the darkness in the end times. It was here that he preached and understood the teachings of Christ and the revelations that were among us. It was here Father Morris told us that he had seen all of this in a dream.

"My children, we are God's willing and able. We are to bring peace around the world and await the rise of our Lord and Father," Father Morris spoke to us from his platform, a soap box.

He was modern, cultured and intelligent. He didn't wear his robes like you would expect. What is the reason for all of the rituals when the world has ended? He would tell us that he hadn't ever enjoyed wearing the stole around his neck. The wool was itchy and left a rash. He was an older man, mid 50s with a full head of white hair. He worse glasses that had cracked on its left lens, and they were always dirty. As he spoke, he became a different man, he became holier than man. He was idolized by the members of Saint Paul's Apostles.

Father Morris raises his frail brown spotted fingers toward the ceiling of the damp crowded basement. The tightly packed survivors grab each other's hands and we came together. We closed our eyes in deep thought. They pray.

"Father, Lord of heaven and earth, we await your salvation. The demons walk among us, but we remain strong. Stalwart and prepared for your holy battle, here on earth, we remain servants of the Almighty. Thank you for your protection and for choosing us to be your holy soldiers in this battle against evil. We pray for your strength and love. Amen."

Amen. They say. While I'm holding everyone's hands, I can't help but consider that God did not listen to us. Laughing at us and taunting our misleading ideas. I do not understand why the world ended so abruptly or how everything came down to this. In the end, we're all dead and empty shells. We just haven't realized it yet.

The Christ spoke to his apostles about his return to the world of the living. He spoke to them about how he would one day come back to his people and bring peace to all man kind. He spoke this to them but he pointed out that we would not know the time nor the place of his rising. What better time than now? What better place than here?

Suddenly, the sounds of explosions rumble the walls of the church above us. The wooden frame of the old basement wasn't built for earthquakes. A rotting rafter cracks and smoke envelopes the small clustered congregation. I hear screaming, coughing, crying. Some pray for God while others use His name in vain.

The silhouette of the priest in the dust motions his body to keep his disciples at ease. They do not listen. His sheep run out of control. I stepped on something squishy and unlike that of a rock or broken furniture. I look down and yell at the person I unexpectedly crushed with the heel of my boot.

"Take my hand, Damn it, now!" She could barely see me in the grey smoke. I had trouble breathing. The second volley of explosions bring more chaos around me and something massive breaks through the ceiling of the basement.

As it hits the ground, it brought dust clouds and debris around us I felt a sudden pain my shoulder. The grey smoke begins to settle long enough to see the marble statue of Jesus with outstretched arms on the crucifix where he died. Now, it's leaning on its side, slouching, and apparently by the expression on the statue, uncaring.

Jesus was clearly disappointed by his followers. The arm of Father Morris was the only remaining part of his body that wasn't crushed or hidden under the rocks and marble. A common reflex action happens when nerves are severed quickly and the father's hand twitches excitedly.

I grabbed the frightened girl, her name was Lady Magnolia. If this wasn't the end of time and the bringing of destruction, I would have asked her to dinner. Now there isn't even a warm slice of toast. Only canned beans and vegetables tease our appetites. We took refuge in a small alcove inside the tumbling basement. She wanted so desperately to run, but who knew what was happening on the surface? It was the last place we needed to be.

I yelled at the top of my lungs for others to stay down but they were like lemmings. Running around in a chicken farm without any escape, there was no exit strategy. I eyeball Mark Antwuan. He was a stout, heavily set black man who was often looking for a fight with those of the opposite color. Now he's like a baby, lost in this world without reason or remorse, he posed no threat to me or Lady Magnolia.

"Mark, get over here!" I screamed and offered my hand out to him. My other arm wrapped around Maggie almost as if I were protecting an infant. Mark's hand was thick and sweaty. It was roughly twice as large as my own palm and his fingers wrapped around my hand as if it were merely a rope. He pulled himself from the debris; his leg was covered in red mud. His eyes were as big as a deer and his thick black lips shivered in fear. He looked at me and I looked at him. Maggie was hiding her face in the sleeve of my bleeding arm.

The sound of tracks rolling over us was not the sort of greeting we expected at our church. Who would demolish a church anyways? It was obvious to me that whatever was up there was not here for prayer. Something told me it wasn't Jesus.

Mark looks to Maggie and asked if she was alright.

I was thinking to myself if that wasn't the stupidest question I had ever heard. No, she was not okay. Yes, she's about to be buried alive, the world has ended, everyone she knew was probably dead and there was no fast food, only beans. I wanted to say this to Mark, but it was not the appropriate time for it. I looked at Mark and nodded my head, "She's okay."

The stout Black man crept closer to our cove, he smelled terrible. We all did. What water we had was rationed out for our survival. Bathing was infrequent. Water was the most important resource we had. Part of me was happy that everyone ran out to the surface to die. My survival rate just increased exponentially.

I looked up and I heard the whining noises of gears and track grinding against metal. The cracking concrete floor above us and the sudden pummeling shake of another explosion rumbled and brought more of the roof down on us. We were below a fire fight and from the sounds of it, it was a rather large engagement. I couldn't help but wonder how much weight the structure could hold and how much the tank above us weighed. If it were a tank, I wasn't going to find look for myself.

The dirt had settled and I broke from my imagination, caring for the wounded man beside me, and trying to console Maggie in my arms, I was too busy to realize everyone else had vanished from sight. The place was quiet, except for the battle above us, but the screaming of people, I couldn't hear. I imagined only one thing. I imagined lemmings. Amen.

We waited for what seemed like hours in the collapsing building. We hadn't a choice. We could bear the hostile environment where men with machines and guns were destined to kill one another, or we could remain here and be crushed alive by concrete and rebar. There wasn't much of a choice and I left my chances up with whatever might occur. I imagined a game of poker, maybe blackjack. I wasn't very good at gambling, so my odds were stacked against me. I didn't tell the two others I might have brought them to their grave. Better to die on holy ground than to be shot down somewhere else, I figured.

The whining churn of metal parts above us began to fade. The explosions ceased and echoed in the distance. It seemed like it was over, that we survived their attack. The unlikely combatants of Saint Paul's Apostles were slain in a massacre, so I suspected.

"I think it's over now, guys," I wasn't sure of myself and my voice was shaken. "I'm going to take a look outside."

I told Mark to stay with Maggie while I scouted the area, but Maggie's fingers clenched around me like a leech. She was a frightened puppy that couldn't be left alone, whimpering for attention. It reminded me of my two year old son, I had left behind. The babysitter always told me that he cried for hours at the door when I left. I now see why. He was afraid he would never see me again. This time it was true. He never did see me again. I don't know where they are or if they were still alive. My son and the sitter, my wife and her boyfriend, they were all dead. For the most part of I sad, but I didn't care much if her boyfriend was taken out, I almost felt pleased by it until I came here. When I came here and I was told he was chosen by God to meet him in the kingdom of heaven, I hated him more.

I push several boulders from our little hide away and peered out into the congregational hall of our little basement. There wasn't much of a sight to see. The walls were destroyed and fell in on each other. The rebar poles were twisted like the playgrounds, bricks of concrete were blackened by fire or explosions, I couldn't tell. I could see the dark sky above me and the ash fluttering like snow to cover the apathetic looking Jesus who happened to have crushed our leader. Maybe Father Morris wasn't forgotten after all. Amen.

Mark whispers what the situation was out here. I looked around and raised my hand for him to be quiet. I put my finger to my lips and hushed him quickly. Above me I could hear foreign tongues yelling orders out to their subordinates. The marching of boots crunching the earth above me was getting closer. They were coming to clean out the rats. I looked around for a place to hide and found it behind Jesus.

"Quiet down, I hear something! Mark, put those rocks back up, hide Maggie!" I demanded in the best officer voice I could muster. I wasn't a born leader, but I heard once that leaders aren't bred as much as picked under circumstance. Maybe that was true. Captain Harris of the Saint Paul's Apostles.

I slipped behind the status of the crucified martyr and put a few bricks over my legs. I was already covered in ash and dust, I was certain I would be easily camouflaged from the enemy. I was slouched nearly upside down in an angle. I looked up at the face of the statue and it looked back at me mockingly. It watched me without blinking and it apathetically denounced me. I felt unworthy. I was forgotten, I understand this, but it didn't need to be rubbed in my face.

Foreign voices were yelling loudly now. I could see two men wearing some uniforms I was unaware of. Their faces were hidden under black helmets and they spoke something that was foreign. I couldn't place my finger on it, but it sounded Chinese. It was certainly Asian.

Beams of light shot down into the hole of where the foundation of the church used to be. The flashlights were mounted on assault rifles that looked a little more like cannons than your average hunting rifle. I'm certain these guns weren't built for dove shooting. I remained quiet and unmoving, unflinching. I prayed they would move on and continue with their mission.

Several other foreign soldiers arrived around the crater. They spoke for what seemed like an eternity and then two of the men jumped into the hole. I turn my cards and expected blackjack. I busted, dealer wins.

I looked at the alcove, Mark did a fine job covering the small tunnel I burrowed to get out, but I feared it wouldn't be enough for these soldiers. A soldier walked towards the statue of our Lord and turned around to speak something to his comrade. Whatever he said to him made the other soldier laugh loudly, I'm glad I didn't understand him. I might have laughed my position away.

The soldier looks passed Jesus and behind the statue, where I laid in plain sight. He peered back and forth but he didn't flash his light that direction. I remained unmoving. I watched a boot stomp the ground right before my eyes, inches from my nose. He stepped in something wretched before coming this far. I couldn't place the smell but it was certainly rotten. I took a look at the weapon slung on his left shoulder and the writing was certainly some Chinese, maybe Japanese. They look the same to me.

My heart raced loudly and I feared that it would burst from my chest. The pounding of my pulse was so heavy that I'm surprised the soldier couldn't hear it. He looked around and stepped back to speak to his fellow soldier. He looks up and yells to the others that continued watching inside the crater where the three of us hid. Their guns pointed down as if to shoot fish in a barrel. They climbed out of the hole and marched off into the distance.

I took a deep breath and I couldn't say a word. I was paralyzed. I didn't know who they were or what they were wearing, but they certainly weren't friendly. What were these men doing in the heartland of America? When did they invade us and why are they winning? I was raised knowing that no one could defeat American technological warfare. So I was lead to believe. I'm not surprised I was wrong, the government had always found ways of lying to their people and giving them false senses of security. God bless America. Amen.