Désolation des Arcs-en-Ciel

Désolation des Arcs-en-ciel

	He wore his oxygen mask. Turning on the engine of the jet, Mark Humborn waited for his orders. The mellow sun surrounded in clear sky shined through the glass of the 3BA-2, placing light unto Mark’s digital watch. 8:50 15/5/2056. The jet hung below the sky-carrier, alone high above the clouds. The jet was cramped but it was enough for a person and his thoughts. In front of Mark, on the glass, lies a crosshair for encounters en route and to the side there is an image of the clouds possibly below with a faint circle in the middle. Mark glances to the mirror beside him, looking at the lifeless fly-looking helmet with a faint green colour. The bright light on the shiny eyeglass replaced both of his eyes but it would disappear soon.

“OVERSEER TO RAINBOW-B, DO YOU COPY RAINBOW-B?”

	He reaches for the button to his left.

“COPY THAT”

	There was a slight pause.

“YOU HAVE CLEARENCE TO DISENGAGE TO PERFORM PROCEDURE B-16 TO COORDINATES C-25. I REPEAT, YOU HAVE CLEARENCE TO DISENGAGE TO PERFORM PROCEDURE B-16 TO COORDINATES C-25. RETURN TO BASE IMMEDIATELY IF POSSIBLE ONCE THE PROCEDURE IS DONE. OVER.”

	Mark felt a cold shudder through his jacket, the wind that was non-existent was a product of his own, a self-reflection to the deaths. Isn’t it great? With hesitation, Mark entered the code into the tiny terminal in between all the buttons and switches. He warmed-up the engines and unactivated the safety lock. He typed in ‘disengage 3 0 0 0 0’ and hit enter. The screen showed in a small corner, 3, 2, 1,

	RAINBOW-B was falling into the clouds and just before landing unto them, he pushed the throttle and after a moment of decelerating, gravity was defied. They were still above clouds to avoid the rainbow to fade. Gliding with uncontested speed and force, the RAINBOW was a half kilometer away from the position it glided every second it passed. The sky cut in two. The only destructor of silence being the poised whistle produced from the aluminium alloy, a sound that became soothing before the screeching sounds of death he had metaphysically heard many times before, it wasn’t so bad. The destination was straight ahead. All Mark needed to do was press the button and turn the ship, like a lawnmower. After all, happiness is a warm gun.

	It seems lonely up here with the clouds travelling to distant lands and the sun overlooking the speeding jet as if he was chasing it. A sun to chase for. Mark felt the anger he had felt and kept for so long. A deep depression to the life which he hates that deprived him from his family’s trust.

	We kept seeing the dust and ashes of the once living and never have lived for death is the only consul brought to this earth this plane Humborn Pilot to RAINBOW-Becoming breaking no shattering this mirror and what’s left are the pieces other than that nothing changed alas what is the use what is the use of changing things in this world if were all as good as dead I wouldn’t need to tie ends with Martha but mother - I can’t but she must learn to let go she won’t she’s as good as dead so is Martha so is Jack and so am I say these words to comfort me it’s just the same as rejecting death is it it is not that all that is is everybody you are? I need a fix ‘cause I’m going down.

	Mark steadied his hand while descending into the clouds and blurred his vision with gas outside the windshield. The holographic display on the right unearthed the sand barely distinguishable in green lights. The circle in the middle of the display grew larger as Mark pushed a switch. The ground from the small virtual window on the actual window glazing fastly but still unblurred. But like a window of a recluse, Mark just stared with no motion. A lifeless void, nothing in surface but deep inside, there he is, the single variable. Goodbye, he said deep under. The smaller buildings peek through the small window. There’s no turning back.

	Fire and dust filled the horizon infecting the sky and ground . The sky was suffocatingly red while the sand was pushed to make way for the invisible beam unearthing, pulverizing those close and those far. The red horse, if only the jet was white. Red horses. Galloping with full force far away. Desolating the rainbows above and the sand below. The clouds bended for the second bringer, like light bending for a black hole. The clouds are above and the ground force below. Bending for the second king that hath become over them, over all. The horses galloped nearer. Bringing death, bringing pain and bringing suffering. The Ultimate Destroyer, Bringer of Death, The Second Lifeless King, bleeding through the sky like red ink on paper spreading what is to become unto them and all there is and ever will be. The horses merged into one and from that came the eye slightly to the right. The Ultimate Bringer. Or was it before.

	The ground force said their goodbyes to the red inkblot previously in the sky. It was awkward because they were both going the same direction. But the red inkblot will turn downwards a few minutes later, so it’s not that bad. The three kind-of-humvees drove towards the fading inkblot looking over the former city of  Sherja’iz or Sherjaiz or Sherjais or Sherja’is or Sher Jaiszs. But that’s all gone now. What’s left are dust and ashes shaved off of Earth and earth.

	Sifting through the sand, the humvee strides between miniature sand hills moving farther and farther till the destination or till nowhere. They’re only stopping when they’re nothing, the hills of course. Their final destination, death. Inside the interval between birth and death, lies a fractal of smaller journeys with smaller journeys in them. Never ending yet here we are moving from word to word. We’re striding through infinite amounts of values without even glancing.Time’s to fast to look at every centicenticenticenticenticenticenticenticenti…metre. Yet we feel an emptiness from missing out. All the quarks and qualms of all around, the miniature eruptions and fading, all gone, it is the horror of the biographist or rather fangirl. No matter how we may seep in, we can’t even grasp the essence of one but oneself. Actually, the essence is every fractal. The steps count rather than the goal because the goal is a journey well stepped, but we never reach our destination, we move and move and move from infinith to infinith and soon settle down in the very beginning of the journey. Marry a country girl, Death. Like a fly’s eye(s). Each of us with our own version of Death. At surface, they may seem to differ, but truly, all country girls are the same. It was then when the smell of burning sandstone and tar carved through the marble of their faces through the digital desert camouflage unearthing the desolation of their hearts and the nature of their world that humans are used to being exposed to yet makes them find their creator for themselves before and sometimes after death but what can we do that is the nature of nihilism you either die or live with no meaning and I’m having a hard time figuring out which is worse of the two but what can you do? He held the barrel of his gun, the crest of his character crusting all of him while everyone ignores, we’re all crusting yet I look around and I doubt but some days I believe and eventually get disappointed when they always ignore but I wake the other day and my faith is restored which makes it sound like an event when all it is is just a 1 in an abundance of 1s and 0s waiting for destruction that is the metaphor I chose. It seems an eternity for him, the ghosts he sees, they wave and he waves back. They just stare, these shells that were once fractal-unclear desolated human beings. The corpses of those too young to see the desolation they’re in. In a way, we’re doing them a favour. Or we have done them one. For who is more hurt, the soldier or the dead civilian?

	There it is, the miniature destination. What was once the City of Sherjas. All the memories made from this city, all the spiteful hate, fleeting love, all dead. They exited their Humvees without haste. There was no use to haste. There stood the curve from the beam that destroyed a city, the beam that unexisted those and whats that were once of meaning to people. What’s left is just to watch. The crew, just stood there staring at the black smile curved into the buildings and the ground that were once them. In the centre of it all, he stood, staring at the black anti-worm smiling at him. He looked pale, did he smile back?