The
Last
Year
On
Earth
[PART I]
By Naji Shakur
Based on a true story.
The Last Year On Earth
'A racial explosion is more powerful than an atomic explosion...' – Malcom X
'What we do in life, echoes in Eternity.' - Maximus Decimus Meridius
For Travon Martin.
Chaos Theory.
What happens, society loses its' moral bearing?
When a people can't trust the veracity of its' rule?
What happens, when the social contract is broken?
Anarchy. Total contempt for the law.
It would seem the Nation has lost its' bearing...
PROLOGUE
Last
Year
On
Earth
[PART I]
By Naji Shakur
Based on a true story.
The Last Year On Earth
'A racial explosion is more powerful than an atomic explosion...' – Malcom X
'What we do in life, echoes in Eternity.' - Maximus Decimus Meridius
For Travon Martin.
Chaos Theory.
What happens, society loses its' moral bearing?
When a people can't trust the veracity of its' rule?
What happens, when the social contract is broken?
Anarchy. Total contempt for the law.
It would seem the Nation has lost its' bearing...
PROLOGUE
After being racially harassed for months, a boy gets fired for “not smiling” to a customer. What does he do? He goes to the law. Or what is presumably so. He goes through official channels. He reports to EEOC. The result? Nothing. Nothing happens on a legal level, nothing happens on a societal level, nothing happens at all. The boy, heartbroken, resolves to move on in life. He purchases a new scooter for transportation, and sets about finding new employment. Sitting on his mother's patio, he uses the WiFi to search. Time passes, and he researches and fills out applications.
Each night as he leaves, he places his friend Lucatiel (Lulu), a small dog in his backpack, leaving of course, a hole to poke her head through. He then rides to his shed where, fending off the rats, in the bitter cold, he sleeps. This cycle repeats itself for over a week. Strangely, the boy, can't help but feel as though he's being watched, each time he enters and leaves his mother's complex.
One night as the boy parks his scooter, he notices an unfamiliar car waiting near his usual spot. He continues on to search for jobs, and the night progresses. He finishes and returns to his bike at half-past ten. Inside the unfamiliar car, there is an individual. The individual ignores the boy, and looks at his phone. He remains, and the boy leaves. The boy rides up out of the parking lot, then heads right.
He drives for a total of about twenty-eight seconds before onward, directly ahead of him, a car comes careening straight for him, on the wrong side of the road. Several seconds pass, before “what the -?!” The driver continues directly at him, almost... purposefully.
Swerving abruptly the boy on his bike is just barely able to avoid him, glancing a blow off the front-left corner of the car. In this moment, time is slowed for the boy and he's given a choice. Either he can roll, saving himself, yet risk the life of Lucatiel. Or he can land hard on himself and save his beloved friend.
The choice was obvious and easy.
CHAPTER ONE
Once the collision had ended, the boy gathered his senses. He was sitting on the ground, his scooter was nowhere in site. From the car that had hit him, a man came. Asking the boy if he was OK. The boy responds, “No. My leg is broken.”. Indeed, the leg had snapped off just above the knee.
Immediately, the boy struggled his backpack off to open it, fearing the worst...
God be praised:
His little Lulu was alive and well. Nothing else mattered.
It was only a few moments before first responders arrived and very expertly dealt with the situation. The boy arrived in the emergency room. He'd been strangely calm the entire time. He even suffered very little pain...
He thanked the EMT men and nurses that had transported him onto a new bed. In his eyes they were TV heroes.
His leg was a horribly deformed, though strangely the boy was amused...
It looked like an awkwardly bent hot dog...
Soon the time came to sedate the boy.
He was injected with Ketamine.
As he went under, his world became strange.
He couldn't think.
His mind was paralyzed.
Reality was frozen.
It was as though all the essence of his existence, his mind, his soul, were being pulled through a mixing straw...
Time froze.
He wondered... is this death..?
And all the while, vaguely in the background, a hideous, crunching, twisting sensation...
When the ordeal was over the boy slowly began to perceive correctly. Some time passed. After a night of sleep, the boy was brought to a new level. Here they would perform surgery to fix the leg. An interesting conversation unfolded between himself and one of the nurse technicians. At some point the conversation came to “there's too many people on the earth”... The boy was then brought, after some waiting into the operating room. The nurse technician had wheeled him in, and as the boy was being put under sedation a second time, he called out to the technician,
“when the zombie apocalypse begins, you're on my team..!”.
The boy slept. An instant later he awoke, and the surgery was complete.
The boy awoke to a surveillance nightmare.
The spies infiltrating his life were not exposed forthright. Slowly healing over time, the boy waited. Finally, after months of bed rest, crutches, opioids and stomach injections (most wonderful when one has an affinity for needles), he ventured back out into the world. Not ten minutes after he was off his crutches, when lo, the boy was intercepted en route to his front door by a... Karen.
She had the air of a desperate sports fan, who cheatingly jumps onto the field to help the goal-keep defend her team. “What's your name?” She demanded. The boy already knew. He knew what this meant. He responded flatly. “How do you spell it?” She demanded. Again he responded flatly and moved on. Here began a long campaign of incessant harassment, culminating in the defeat of low bigots, and possibly... the end of the world.
Wherever he would go, someone would follow. A security patrol, always pulling up wherever he might be. A police officer, always pulling up wherever he might be. An officer even approached the boy in his mother's car pointing a gun at his head. The boy was (very suspiciously) eating a snack. This carried on for months. His car was robbed of its' paperwork. When the boy called police, they refused to show up for two hours.
In the apartment, the woman continued basing her life off of the boy's actions, so he attempted to avoid her. She'd intercept him on the way into his front door, so he used the side door into the yard. When he did that, she then would “water her plants” just as he entered underneath her balcony. Eventually the boy found it easier to simply enter through his bedroom window. Having no means of harassment, she repeatedly clipped off the wire to the yard's gate-latch. On and on it went, as she reported him for petty, minor things.
One day the boy knocked over a stone tower of heavy stones that was placed near the path to his backyard gate. “HEY!” the woman roared from the top of her tyrannical tower. Storming out her door and down the stairs, she ordered, “pick that up!”.
“No thanks.” the boy responded.
“I will lynch you n****r!” she said.
The boy didn't bother with a response. Next it was her time to begin noise harassment within the apartment. Day in and day out, banging things around above his bedroom. She even “dropped” something so hard that a ceiling light bulb fell from its' fixture. As the boy attempted to enter from another end of the apartment, there too, he was intercepted by another Karen. “Poor Lulu”, she sneered as he walked by.
On and on, neighbors repeatedly harassed. Asking “do you live here?” in a look of mock concern for crime... Or whatever.
Soon it became time for the boy to purchase a new vehicle. Though, having been fed up with his towns' racist filth and bigotry, and, having suffered it intensely the past four years, he decided to have...
A little bit of fun....
Attachments
Haha she's OK. But a little injured. DAMN this WS trash.