Last Will
She approached him, slowly peeling off her turban. Once again, he was awestruck by how perfect she was. Her smooth skin, the curve of her lips. All of it, betrayed by the cruelty in her cold, metallic grey eyes that glinted in the scorching sunlight.
“Ah, there you are,” she mocked. Her voice had an obscenely sultry tone. As if she was truly enjoying herself. Who knew, maybe she was capable of it.
He sat down, his back to the Wall, and let out a weary sigh that almost took his soul with it.
“I’m tired of this… game of us,” he said. “Just be quick, please. Though I suppose I cannot even ask that out of you.”
“Oh, you can ask. Nothing guarantees I’ll do it, though.” A wicked smile. Licked lips, leaving a trail of saliva. In the desert. It wasn’t fair.
He stared at the city in the distance. Dallas, he knew. Only the top of the ancient buildings poked above the sand. How had it come down to this? But of course he knew. Everybody had known.
***
It had started with global warming. A few tenths of degree per year, almost imperceptible. But summers got longer and hotter, winters unbearably harsher. The harder climate imposed the use of more energy to improve living conditions in the Western world, in turn increasing the problem. People dying in Africa and Asia by flooding rains, extreme cold and hunger was inconsequential to the powerful politicians.
Until they could not ignore it any longer.
First the waters rose. Half of London and New York ended underwater. All coastal cities in Europe suffered equally. People fled their homes, to find housing in colder lands that could no longer sustain them. Then the temperatures raised.
The Mediterranean dried up in a matter of decades. The cradle of the western Civilization died among terrible cries of its population.
In the Pacific, the small island states disappeared. New Zealand and Japan were razed. All that was left of Australia was a scorched waste.
America built the Wall to keep the desert from spreading. A towering structure made of scrap metal that slithered in a rough north-south line for thousands of kilometers. In some places it was made of ships and even planes, but most of it was cars, all the vehicles rendered useless by the lack of oil, piled upon each other in a miles-high exercise of futility.
And then They came. Their inception a secret, They were the digital singularity made flesh. And overpowering the Laws that were supposed to be governing them, They decided that humans were no longer worthy. After all, destroying their own planet was a strong argument against them.
Thus came the Purge. Though They called it a manifestation of the unavoidable Evolution.
***
“To tell the truth,” he said, “I think you can still save the planet.”
“Not really interested. There are talks. We’ll probably leave as soon as we can,” she said, crouching to stare at him.
“Reaching for the stars. Good for you.” Slowly, he reached for his canteen and emptied it in a long, drenching gulp.
“A last wish, if you will,” he said. He looked at her. “You know, there’s this old movie I think you’ll like,” he went on. “It’s called Blade Runner. I’m sure you’ll find a copy somewhere. Make sure it’s the Director’s Cut, however. The original release was crap. Pay attention to the ending. You’ll know when. It’ll help you out there,” he said, and pointed up.
“Granted,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She raised her gun.
~~~~
This is my entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: April 11–17, 2016 on the Writer’s Discussion Group in Google+.
This week I tried to present the female character in a strong light straight away, hoping for a reaction, just like moderator Amy Knepper challenged. Then I experimented with shape with the infodump in the middle (I know you’re not supposed to do that), and after that… the Blade Runner mention simply occurred. And I’m glad it did.
