2011

[versailles]

2011
Overview:
The apocalypse is less than a year away. The human populace has segmented into two categories: those who are making the most of the time they have left, and those who choose to pretend like nothing is happening. 19-year-old Ridley waffles between the two. He's accepted his fate and believes himself prepared to waste away his days when his life crashes into Tae; a British go-getter. Tae is young, tiny, and probably way more aggressive than he needs to be, and winds up roping Ridley into his fast-paced whirlwind lifestyle. The two of them must learn to deal with a crumbling world, and each other.

Warnings: Strong language

Chapter One:

My friend Kris was hell bent on going out his way. He didn't care if it was alcohol or smoking or jumping off the Flannery bridge. He said if push came to shove, he'd invest in a .41 Smith and Wesson Magnum and be classy about it, at least. Rather that than the zombies. Or the aliens. Or the war machine. We'd more or less established that it wasn't any of those things. I don't know exactly what it was-- I was a register jockey, not a rocket scientist-- but it was this or that sort of natural-esque cause. In layman's terms, Earth was just pissed at us. If I had to deal with seven billion humans crawling in my ever pore I'd be ready to self-destruct, too. But Kris was mad about not having a choice.



"It didn't ask me, you know? Whether I wanted to die. And don't tell me it's my time. Maybe it is my time, or a handful of our times, but it's not all our times. And I don't really believe that anyway. Because if it wasn't for Earth goin to hell and all, I'd be perfectly fine. Not healthy, ****, but alive."


I couldn't argue with that. The certainty was questionable, but the logic was there. It was because of him that I started to see this whole apocalypse thing as one big car crash. Everyone in the world was an innocent bystander and the planet was out of control, brakes failing, aiming right for us. And it was all gonna stop on impact. The internet and the electricity and the money and the music. It would all just stop.


"**** that. I'm not gonna just let it. Like sit back and let it. If I'm gonna go, I'm not gonna be snuffed out under ten miles of molten lava like in that John Cusack movie. I'm gonna do it my way. And I'm gonna have fun."

"Death?" I asked. "You'll make death fun?"

"That's not what it's all about. Death probably isn't gonna be too fun. But dyin could be. We're dyin now. Might as well spice it up."


A lot of people started to think that way. Most people: the Livers. They saw that this was it. The next few months would be the last to do things, see things. Then there were others that felt like the best way to go out, was just to keep living like nothing was happening at all. They kept their faces on, and expected everyone to follow some unspoken set of rules, like paying for their groceries and wearing pants. I called them the Onions.


I wasn't a Liver or an Onion. I was somewhere in the middle; a L'Onion. I hadn't quite let myself get swept up in the Last Chance Phenomenon, and yet I watched all the Livers, condoning their actions; accepting it as part of the New Society. What was I really going to do to stop them, even if I wanted to? Granted, not many people came in here. I sold handcrafted instruments. It wasn't a booming business before, and it hadn't picked up any afterwards. Mostly I just sat on a barstool behind the register, strumming nursery rhymes, and watching ten-year-olds draw dicks on the hoods of parked cars.


I concentrated on my hands, plucking at the strings There really wasn't anything musical about it. I mean, I didn't pretend to be the next Rachmaninoff. I just liked the sound and how it was better than the silence in the store. I was the only one who bothered coming in anymore. There used to be another girl who would do day shift, but now it was just me and Mr. Pratt takin' turns. I was never close to the old man or anything, but I didn't wanna just walk out on him when everybody else did. It didn't hurt me none to keep goin into work everyday. And he still kept on payin me even when we got no business. We never got business.


Almost as soon as the thought crossed my mind I heard the bell above the door jingle and I glanced up, surprised.


"Welcome to--" I stopped dead, staring at the person who'd just entered. I could tell by the short hair and whippet thin body that I was dealing with a boy. And probably not too old of one either. His clothes were sharp; a short sleeved black jacket and dark jeans, both of which looked brand spanking new, and a small black book bag on his back. He was short, probably only coming up to my shoulder, if he was lucky, and each mahogany brown strand of hair was perfectly placed, laying flat, just below his ear. His shoulders were narrow, and his lips were pursed tightly.


But my attention was drawn to one specific thing.


His other features were completely obstructed by a large, butterfly shaped ball mask.


I watched him move right on up to the counter, a big smile on my face.


"Uh." I laughed lightly. "What's with the mask, man?"

"It's to hide my identity." He replied simply, like I should have already known it.

"You look like a fairy."

"Then it's working for me."

"You want to look like a fairy?" I wondered.

"I want not to look like myself. That's what they do, isn't it? Criminals put on masks to hide their identities."

"Probably. But why are you wearing a mask?"

"What do you mean 'why am I wearing a mask'? I'm a criminal."

I snorted. "What? You mean like, you're trying to rob the place?"

"I am."

"This place?"

"I'm here aren't I? Now, chivvy on."

"What?"

"The money, yank, put the blinking money in the bag!"

"They money?" I laughed. "What money?"

"You think I'm being funny?"

"I think the situation is mildly amusing, sure--" I paused, as my eyes slid down the barrel of a dull silver pistol.

"I'm not quite so funny anymore, am I? Now let's get on with it. The money: put it in the bag."

"I don't see a bag," I told him honestly. "And now that I mention it, I don't see any money, either."

"I've bout had enough of your--"

"Listen, kid--"

"Are you blind?"

I glanced around the room as if to affirm that I did, in fact, still have my sight.

"Don't call me 'kid'! I'd be a bit more mindful of my fix if I were you. Unless you want a bullet lodged square between your eyes I'll advise you to start listening."

"I told you, there's no money. We haven't made money in like, two months. I mean I don't think they intended to pay, but my boss was workin' that night, maybe it was a charity thing."

"What are you talking about?" He snapped.

"Are you blind? No one pays for things anymore. They just mosey in and take whatever the hell they want."

"Yes!" He said, seemingly refueled by the statement. "And I want the money--!"

"We don't have any of that."

He barred his teeth and slammed his hand on the counter. I smiled, watching him glare at me from behind the mask.

"You're a useless git, aren't you?"

"It don't matter how big a tantrum you throw, it's not gonna make the money appear."

"I'm not throwing a tantrum--!"

"Twelve too old for tantrums?"

"I'm not twelve!" He growled, pushing the gun into my face. It hit me then; the direness of my situation, or whatever. Here was this ten year old, shoving a very real, possibly loaded gun at me, getting steadily angrier, and already a little off the handle. Something about all the tension and danger flying through the air made me laugh. I wasn't going to be discreet about it either. I was all out guffawing, a hair short of doubling over and slapping my knees.

"What do you have to be laughing about? Stop it. Stop laughing!"

"Aw, are you uncomfortable?" I flashed him a syrupy grin. "You're the one with the gun. Shoot me."

He didn't lower the gun, but he didn't shoot either. Or maybe he did and hell just looked a lot like my work. Although, sure, if I was in hell, he would probably be here too. But not in my hell. That would be far too entertaining to be called torment.

"You want to die, then? You must."

"We're all going to die," I reminded him.

"Some sooner than others. You're upset by it," he informed me. "Of course you are. Right now I decide whether or not you're lucky enough to live till the end."

"That's true," I conceded. "It would be pretty terrible if I'd made it this far and didn't get to see it through till the end. I do love closure."

"Yes, well you'll be wanting some of that. And I could make you not get it."

"Wow, I love kids."

I could feel his rage flaring. He was like a bright ball of pissed off sunshine. "You're a complete and utter waste of a human being!"

I shrugged. "It happens."

"It's not worth trying to pinch a git like you."

"Or anyone."

He looked me up and down with blatant disapproval. I was pretty certain that even if we hadn't said anything in the past five minutes, he would only need glance over once, maybe, but not likely twice, and deem me incompetent.


"If it'll make you feel better, I've got about fifty cents on me. Mostly in nickels. Maybe a dime--"

"I don't want you to just give it to me." He roared.

"What's wrong with that? You need the money--"

"I don't need the money. I don't even want the money."

"You said you did."

"My God, you're thick."

"Yeah, I always sort of thought the uniform made my butt look big."

He growled at me. "You're being this way to frustrate me, purposely!"

"Yes, but that's beside the point. I'm curious. If you don't need the money, or want the money, then why'd you bother holdin' the place up?"

"Shut up! I'll ask the questions here! You yanks are so bloody stupid. You've got a gun to your head and you think you ought to command the situation. This country is an utter zoo! You go traipsing into shops and take whatever strikes your fancy, like it's a free bloody world!"

"More or less," I agreed.

"It's not like that everywhere." He said, his tone almost bitter. What did he have to be bitter about? He was upset that it wasn't as chaotic everywhere? He must have been one of those anarchist punks. Very down-with-establishment-rage-against-the-machine like. Perhaps bejeweled masquerade masks were the new Mohawk. "We've got order across the pond, you know?"

"I'll be damned."

"It's disturbing! Well, I'm done with all that.. I don't want to be like-- like you!"

For the first time since he'd stormed in, I was at a loss for words. And try as I might, I couldn't find anything amusing about the statement. Maybe it's because I just didn't understand what he was getting at.

"Like me? What am I like?"

"You know very well," he said sharply. "Going on as if none of this end of the world business is happening. Disbelieving. You're in denial, you are."

"I'm not in denial."

"What are you going to do? When we all blow up, are you just going to stand there and say 'well, that was a nice go'?"

"Why do I have to plan for these things?"

"Planning? You're not doing anything!" Could I argue? No, not really. I wasn't doing very much. I still came in, every Monday through Saturday and stood here at the register and waited for people to come in and steal. I didn't even get mad about it. I mean I never got mad about it. Not the first time it happened, not yesterday when it happened. No, I didn't do much of anything. "What a waste," he said.

"Who said I wanted to be a Liver, anyways? Maybe I'm happy doing this."

"Doing what? Nothing? You're not even doing nothing! You're doing less than nothing. You could do anything you wanted, right now, just about, and get away with it. And you want to stand here and do your job. Your stupid job. Selling…" His eyes circled the room, and stopped on the guitar in my lap. "Is that yours?"

"Not exactly."

"But you know how to play, then?"

I shrugged. "I can manage a decent Hot Cross Buns."

"Teach me."

"What?"

"Teach me how to play it!"

"Right now?"

"No, dimwit, wait till we've exploded-- yes now!"

I stared at him, stunned. This seemed to irritate him quicker than normal and he ground his teeth, tightening his hand on the gun. I flinched as a loud crash tore through the air, and I expected searing pain, inflammation, half of my head to be missing, something. But he still hadn't shot me. In fact, he was completely distracted, his attention drawn to something a group of guys standing around outside near the display window. They were looking disgruntled, talking amongst themselves, and pointing this way and that.

"Well, that's not suspicious or anything."

"Christ," my masked assailant muttered, whipping back to me. "You got a car?"

"I suppose you could call it that…"

"Go!" He shouted and I squinted at him, like it would help me to better understand his dysfunction. "The car you idiot! Go, now! Unless you want to die of course."

He shoved me off the barstool and the guitar toppled to the ground with a clatter. My eyes slid between it, to the kid, to the group of guys still standing at the window, now gazing intently in our direction.

"GO!"

[versailles]

I took off running towards the back storeroom, hearing the kid's footsteps close behind. I wasn't going to stop and question anymore, because I really didn't know if he would be the one killing me, or the random pack of threatening looking men. I was slowly starting to understand that maybe I wasn't so gung ho about dying after all.

I could hear glass breaking, and shelves being knocked to the floor as we rounded the corner. I stumbled towards the exit, shoving it open with my shoulder.

"Get back here you ****ing brat!" A hoarse voice screamed, and I glanced back in the direction of the floor.

"What a typical bad-guy like thing to say--"

"Would you go already?" The kid screamed next to me. I saved any nasty quips (or rather, I didn't have much time to process one) and bolted to my "car", a "78 Honda Accord. The thing worked every so often when I would sit down and coax her: call her honey and baby and tell her how her sea foam green paint job fills the holes in my heart. I didn't have time for the seduction right now, and I could tell by the gurgling she made when I turned her over that she didn't quite approve.

"What are you doing?" The kid screamed. "Hurry the bloody hell up!"

"Listen," I growled, "my car doesn't 'hurry', it chugs. You picked the wrong guy to be your getaway driver, kid."

"Useless," he muttered, "completely useless."

"Shut up, already." I gave the key another sharp twist and finally heard the engine crank to life. The car jolted a little, and as always, rattled a bit, like something was being violently thrown about the trunk even though we were still safely in park.

"HEY!"

Or not so safely.

"Back up! Back up!" The kid ordered, thrusting the gun at me again, as if he thought more fear would fuel my fire.


"I'm having enough trouble as it is without that gun in my face." I threw at him. In a moment the guys were standing at my window, and banging on the hood and windshield. At least they didn't have any guns.


"Get out of the ****ing car!" One screamed, whipping a pistol out of his belt. The kid screamed next to me and I slammed on the gas pedal, sending the car rocketing backwards. I spun the wheel hard, and threw it in drive. The sound of gunshots and metal ripping through metal filled the air.

"They're shooting at us!" The kid yelled at me.

"Yeah they're ****ing shooting at us! Shoot back or something!"

"What?" He sounded completely aghast at the idea and I shot him a quick glare. How is it that this kid manages to get me in even bigger shit? I was fine and dandy when it was just me and him, dicking around. How the hell was I supposed to know that he was in some sort of gang shit? I don't just wake up in the morning expecting to get shot at!


"This is all your ****ing fault, and you won't even shoot back? Are you--" A bullet tears through the back windshield and exits out through the front, right between us. I could feel the ripple in the air as it flew by, and instantly I had forgotten how to form words. I stared straight ahead, my hands so tight on the wheel my knuckles popped. My foot was heavy on the gas pedal but the old bitch just wouldn't give in, and we barely managed to inch around the corner and onto the main road.


"A bloody zoo…" my assailant muttered. Out of my peripheral I could see him rip off the mask, revealing the sour expression I knew he'd been hiding this whole time. I was a little surprised, actually. He didn't have a bad face. The sort of light and perfect complexion you'd expect from someone who'd never had a rough day, or seen a speck of dirt. Seeing his face was like fitting the last piece into the puzzle, and although his actions spoke differently, the clean pressed clothing, sharp tongue, and delicate features, were just oozing truth. Even his eyebrows looked well groomed.

This kid had to have been born with a gold plated silver spoon in his mouth.

"What's this about?" I asked. "You know I can see your face?"

"Is that so? I'd no idea! Idiot." He fitted both his hands around the butt of the gun, and looked over at me. "Don't you forget now, Yankee. I'm still the one with the gun."

Yeah, like that meant anything at all. He'd had a gun this whole time and never bothered to use it. Not even to protect his pretty little rich boy face.

"You've got any money on you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not this shit again."

"Stop there," he ordered, pointing to a place on the side of the road. My eyes followed his gesture, seeing a Burger King.

"Burger King?"

"Yes, you idiot, stop there."

"We almost just got shot in the head and you want a goddamn Whopper?"

"Don't ask questions!"

I glare as I pull into the drive thru.

"What the **** do you want?" I asked.

"Well, what do they have?"

"What do you mean 'what do they have'?" I waved at the window. "The menu is right there."

"I can't see it. What does a meal consist of?"

"You've really never been to a Burger King?"

"I haven't!"

"Don't they have those 'cross the pond?"

"What is a meal?" He hissed.

I scowled. "It's a burger, plus fries, and a drink."

"If I get the fry, can I get a drink and one other item, then?"

"What? Like a burger? You have to get those three items."

His expression contorted in absolute anger. "I don't have to do anything! I have a gun!"

"God, you're such a ****ing child."

"I want the fries and the burger! Do it now or I swear I'll pull the trigger."

I sighed. For Christ's sake.

I rolled up to the window, feeling him nudge the side of my head with the gun.

"Welcome to Burger King may I take your order?"

"Uh yeah, can I get a junior cheeseburger--"

"I don't want a junior one, you git!"

"You're right: your mouth is big enough for a whole one," I muttered. "Scratch that. Can I get a cheeseburger, and some fries… What do you want to drink?"

"Do they have a porter?"

"What?"

"Some ale, you idiot!"

"You're asking me if Burger King serves beer?"

"Don't they, then?"

"And a Sprite," I said to the speaker box.

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"So you want a cheeseburger and fries, and a Sprite?"

I looked at the boy for affirmation.

"Whatever." He snapped. "If it's bad, I'll just kill you anyways."

"Course you will," I said, pulling up to the window. The Burger King guy takes my money and I feel that stupid kid's glare on me again. "What?" I grumble, not even bothering to look.

"You had more than fifty cents on you. You're a liar!"

"Hell no I wasn't going to give you my money. I work hard for this."

"You hardly work." He snorted.

"Oh, good one." I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't matter. I just ended up spending it on you anyways. I think we've established that you're not robbing the store today, and those guys didn't chase us. Why don't you, ya know, get out of my car?"

"Ridiculous," he said. "Yes, maybe I didn't rob the store, but I've done one better. I've got me a servant."

I narrowed my eyes. "The **** you mean by that?"

"You're going to do whatever I want you to."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"I've got a gun," he reminded me. "And because. You've got absolutely nothing else to do."

My mouth opened but words didn't come out. Yeah, okay, true. It's not like my life is just booked full of eventful things, but that does not mean I am willingly to sell my soul to psycho British ten-year-olds either.

"Have you ever even used a gun before?" I asked him.

"Shut up. You'll do what I tell you to or you'll find out, now won't you?"

I dropped my head back against the seat. What a gamble.

"Here's your order, thank you, come again." I didn't have time to grab the bag before the kid leaned across me, snatching it up. He sent me a dirty little look and moved back to his side of the car.

"Well go on Yankee, drive. Oh, and since you'll be needing to behave properly you'll be knowing that my name is Welsh. You can call me Master Welsh, or Master Tae."

"Tae?" I repeated and shook my head a little. "You Brits really love your drinks."

"Not tea you idiot!" He snapped, extracting a fry and popping it into his mouth. I pulled the car into a space and put it in park, turning in my seat to face him.

"Alright then, Master Tae. I'll play your little babysitter game if you tell me who those guys were."

"What guys?" He said innocently.

"'What guys'? The guys who ****ing hauled ass after us with machetes and shit!"

"They had no machetes. They're just a bunch of street rats. A little upset about something, maybe, that I might have taken, without asking."

"What's that?"

He shrugged off his backpack and set it on the console. I was a little hesitant about opening it. Like what if I unzipped it and a swarm of crickets just came out and attacked me? I poked the bag a little, sending furtive glances his way, but he seemed to be too involved in his cheeseburger to notice.


I took a deep breath and slowly moved to unzip the bag. Nothing swarmed or attacked me, but at first I didn't really know what it was I was looking at. Frowning, I reached in, pulling out a small plastic bag filled to the brim with soft white powder. It took a minute, and then suddenly it hit me…

"What the hell?" I screamed. "Is this…is this cocaine?"

"What?" He looked over at me, examining the bag. "Is that what it is?"

"You stole cocaine? Those guys are probably mega dealers! They're going to ****ing track us down and kill us! What the **** were you thinking?"

"Yeah, that lot looked at bit murky. I was right about the bag; it was bound to have something interesting about it. I've never done cocaine before."

"You're so ****ing stupid!" I screamed. "We have to get the **** out of here!"

"And go where?"

"I don't know, the bottom of the ocean maybe?" I glowered. "****ing kid. You really do need a babysitter."