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Friday, 28 January 2011

Reality Check

I remember with perfect clarity the precise moment the world ended. Contrary to popular belief and ancient prophecies, it did not occur with burning rain and fiery skies, not was it a natural disaster. There was no earthquake to crack open the earth's shell and drop us all into oblivion, not great flood to wash us away.

No none of that.

The world ended on a Saturday in fact, at 20:30 exactly, Eastern Time that was.

'What was it grandpa?' You may ask me 'What happened?'

The truth is somewhat simple. Television ended the world, a simple show. America's next celebrity hair stylist’s assistant the season 4 finale. The show was all the rage back then, and everybody was eager to watch it. Across the world businesses and school closed down so that the final could be broadcast live on a global scale.

We should have seen it coming. Seven billion people, all tuning in at the same time to watch the same thing.

'What was it?' I see you on the edge of your seat, we'll I will hold the suspense no longer.

What happened was simple, broadcasting stopped. Not the channel but everything, we simply ran out of reality. A grey static filled the world and a grating white noise erupted. Then everything disappeared and then black, a fading circle of black until nothing remained but a pinprick of light. Who knows how long it was so, there was no way of telling, and once the light returned we had more important problems.

Unreality had arrived. Sure everything seemed the same, buildings, and clothes, even the weather. Only then did we see them. The monster, the vampires, werewolves, giant apes swinging through the cities, dinosaurs roamed through farmers fields, zombies walked the streets picking off whoever stumbled into their path.

Sure, smile now my young ones, for you know no better than this life. But believe me, there was once a time when the world was a simple place, we didn't have to fight off mad scientists for a day job, nor dodge booby traps and evade giant rolling rocks just making it to the end of our driveway. One upon a time that stuff was what movies were made of. I kid you not.

You want to laugh. I see it in your eyes. But it is true; the fate that your father suffered getting the mail would have been called fantasy when he was a boy. Spontaneous combustion indeed.

But I must stop, the hour is late and there is a movie on soon that I really want to see. The Insurance Salesman Part 7: A Business Lunch. Ahhhh yes, those were the days.

Science Fiction you claim. Maybe now my young mind, but once it was fact, and I miss it so.

Good night my little ones hold your crosses tight for the silver bullets are running low.

Dream soft.

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