NINE MINUTES UNTIL THE END OF THE UNIVERSE
“I wish, for all the world, that this was the last time I saw you.”
Krieda Caishead didn’t notice when the forgotten bedside lamp switched itself off, when the light from the bathroom went dark or the TV downstairs fell silent. Her entire body shook, curled up into a little ball on the bed, having read the letter she found on the table in the hall.
“So this is it, then. I don’t know if I’ve committed
everything I can to memory for your benefit or mine, but.
Language was invented so that knowledge could escape death, and
now these word-pictures of you may survive the worst. I wish I
could be there for you right now, but I know you’ll get through
this without me. You don’t actually need me, see. You never did.
You are one of the bravest and strongest people I've ever known,
you are among titans.
I realise - too late - that all the combinations of invented
letters and words could never express a modicum of what you are,
and what you are to me. I’m not going to say ‘I love you’
because it isn’t enough, because that’s a vague and useless
incantation that has been abused since its first recital,
diluted into worthlessness by millennia of writers, liars,
monsters and fools. So I'm not going to say I love you. (I do.)
By the time you read this, I'll likely be gone with no hope of
ever returning to you. I might even be dead, so let’s get this
out there: you are - literally and without a breath of
exaggeration - the one and only thing in this absurd, cruel,
parodic facsimile of of a world I would ever want to return to.
Of everything I've ever seen or heard, you are the highlight and
main attraction. As for my fate, I am a small part of events
which barely make sense even to me, and which would take too
many precious seconds to explain here.
If we never see each other again, I am content. I am just
thankful that of all the lives there ever were or ever will be,
I am privileged to be a footnote in yours. And what a life it’s
going to be! I am only sorry for these next few moments of
sorrow.
You will never be forgotten,
Aerin”
She hid beneath a pillow. She did not notice the commotion
outside her window. She did not notice when a torrent of angry
Collisterran noblemen started falling from the sky and hitting
the streets. She did not notice when they bounced.
Aerin watched the rain on the city. In the glass of the throne
room’s window he could faintly see his reflection, and the
bright orange ball of fire and limbs that hung still in the air
behind him. A watch on a disembodied wrist had stopped at
10:30am exactly. It had been a few minutes since then. God was
late.
“AM NO A GOD FUR FUCK’S SAKE!”
The main doors to the throne room flew open, purple and green
and pink and white light strobed in from the room on the other
side. An orange woman with blonde hair and a pink dress stumbled
out, screaming at someone behind her. “KEN HOW PEOPLE ARE LIKE
‘OH LOOK AT THAT WEE DUG, HE’S LOOKIN AT THE TV, HE KENS FIT
THEY’RE SAYING HAHA’ BUT YI KEN DUGS ARE ACTUALLY NAE LIKE,
SENTIENT BEINGS BUT IT’S FUNNY TO PRETEND THEY ARE? THAT’S FIT I
THINK ABOUT GODS IVERY DAY OF MAH LIFE YA PRICK.” She turned
around, only just now noticing the explosion. “AERIN LIETTE!”
She raised her arms and grinned. “YOU ABSOLUTE SHITEHAWK!”
“Sorry?” Aerin squinted, walking over to the portal.
“LOOK AT AW THIS, BITS IVERYWHERE, IT’S A FUCKIN DISGRACE!”
“This wasn’t me!”
“Aye aye, right. Mostly am jist amazed you’re still alive min.”
“How…” he peered over her shoulder, women in dresses and men in
suits and weird skirts danced on a wooden floor, chanting “-HUFF
I’LL PUFF I’LL BLOW YOU AWAY SAY YOU WILL! SAY YOU WON’T! SAY
YOU’LL DOOO WHAT I DON’T! SAY YOU’RE TRUE, SAY TO MEE-EEE! C’EST
LA VII-IIIEE!”
Nobody noticed the door, not even the woman in a white dress who
stumbled into the frame and clung to it as she
projectile-vomited over the threshold between worlds, wondered
where the vomit had gone, before disregarding the issue and
getting back to the bridesmaid holding four shots.
Aerin stepped back from the encroaching puddle. “Eugh.”
“Oi!” the woman raised her eyebrows at him. “That vomit’s just
been through eleven dimensions, it can hear you!” She knelt down
and addressed the vomit, which had taken on the rainbow shimmer
of an oil spill and whose crystalline hyper-chunks shivered with
cosmic energy. “Sorry, sorry. I’d just- I would just like to
welcome your species to the state of conscious thought. I
imagine it wis quite the journey, and… once I've dealt wae this
other thing-” she put her hand to her mouth and held back a
little bit of sick, which she swallowed. “I'll refer yi ti the
cooncil and we’ll see about finding a home for yir… burgeoning
civilisation. Arite? Sound mate.”
She stood back up and turned to Aerin, putting an arm around him
and escorting him to the table in the throne room. She leaned in
close to him. “Aye, jist as well she wis sick. Itween you and
me, it covers up the smell ae the best man’s boaby on her
breath.”
“What?”
“His deck! Penis!” She shouted as she sat down. “That’s what I
was there deein, mind how I had aw that booze? In the carriage?”
Aerin noticed her eyes: one pink and one blue. “When you
abandoned me in that forest and left me to fend for myself in a
new world for three days?”
“Ten minutes!”
“Three days.”
“Well I wis a cat in a carriage ten minutes ago, and av just
spent ten minutes greasin the wheels between the new Mrs. Janine
Kwiatkowski nee. Buchan and her husband’s best pal of fifteen
years, standing guard ootside the disabled toilet as he got her
up the duff.”
“Again: what?”
“Pregnant! He got her pregnant.”
“Oh right, right.” Aerin shifted his gaze around the room,
looking for something normal to talk about. He failed. “Why were
you doing that?”
The woman, who had been cradling her head on the table, became
defensive. “Aye right now, that disnae sound like the kind of
100% ethical conduct yi might usually hold me to. One: aye it
fuckin is. Two: I am beyond ethics, arite? Twenty five years fae
now, Princess Khaleesi Kwiatkowski-Buchan is the first quine on
Mars, takin a wee selfie while she’s up there, and the human
race has me ti thank for it.” She slapped the table as
punctuation. “Ethical!”
“Okay, so why are you here? Why now? Why not when everyone was
still alive?”
She scanned the room, gravitating towards the ball of fire and
intestines. “Ooooohhhh THAT’S what that is.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Aerin got up out of his chair to find an
exit.
“Arite arite, that was a joke. Joke. Sit doon. Business time.”
The woman, suddenly wearing horn-rimmed glasses, pulled out a
file from some unseen pocket of air behind her and opened it up
on the table. “As I wis saying, I'm surprised you’re still
alive, considering the succession ae fuckin debilitating
nympholeptic seizures you’ve suffered over the past three days.
Look!” She rolled out a long trail of graph paper, across which
a red line oscillated up and down regularly before suddenly
going off and spelling the word “KRIEDA” in cursive, dotting the
“i” with a little heart.
“Can you just get to the point?”
“Fine.” She took her glasses off and her face became deadly
serious. “Aerin, I'm crashing this universe.”
“Och!” said a large, partially balding and mostly red man in a
loose shirt and kilt as he stumbled through the portal. “Far’s
the bog Britney?”
“It’s no here Kenny but naebidy’s here,” replied the woman,
waving her hand dismissively. “Jist ging for it.”
“Um,” said Aerin, watching the man lift up his kilt and piss
behind the golden door.
“At’s Uncle Kenny, Janine’s,” Britney whispered. “He’s a fine
loon jist dinna mention the EU arite?”
“What?”
“Noo at’s better,” said Uncle Kenny, taking a seat next to
Aerin. “Fine ti get awa fae the last days ae Sodom through
there,” he gestured back to the portal with his sweat-polished
head. “Fit’s gaan on here?”
“I’m crashing the universe Kenny,” said Britney.
“Oh aye?” Kenny replied, visibily shitfaced as he fumbled
through his sporran and tossed a packet of Amber Leaf onto
Praeon II of Dryadora’s throne room table.
“Awrtie bud? Kenny,” said Kenny, extending a large hand to
Aerin.
“Aerin,” Aerin smiled awkwardly as his hand was crushed by
Kenny’s grip. “I’m a friend of- Britney’s.”
“Well at’s a gay name,” Kenny concluded.
“Kenny!” Britney exclaimed, putting on mock offence. “Aerin’s
just watched nearly everyone he knows in this world be murdered
and his world is literally ending, be nice!” she pulled the
packet of tobacco over with the tin of rolling papers.
“Fitwhy?”
“WELL,” Britney drunkenly yelled as she started asssembling a
cigarette. “Av sent Aerin and his pal, John,” she pointed at the
smashed corpse next to Kenny’s chair, “into the year 2214 from
their original time like… two hunner years ago? Summen like at,
so they can see fit the future’s like if they dinna-”
Kenny pulled the roll of graph paper over to his side of the
table and turned it so he could read it. “Fit’s iss?”
“Krieda is Aerin’s blon,” Britney said, licking the cigarette
paper’s edge. “In this time. Well, she’s the blon of Aerin’s
clone, who I made twenty-odd year ago to be replaced by oor
Aerin so he can seamlessly intergrate into future society and
take over his clone’s life, but like they’re literally exactly
the same person, so it’s kind of fine? But at the same time it’s
REALLY NAE,” she stared at Aerin as she sealed the fag and
passed it over to Kenny. “But also like morality literally isnae
a thing that exists, so fitiver. ANYWAY, since time travel isnae
possible-”
“You sure aboot at?” said Kenny, pausing to light up and take a
puff. “I seen iss documentary on ‘i History channel, right,
and-”
“Let’s jist say it is, right?” Britney interrupted. “How could I
send Aerin and his pal into the future?”
“Ancient astronauts.” Kenny bluntly replied.
“Trick question, I didny,” she leaned back in her chair looking
extremely pleased with herself. “Aerin and John’s lives in the
past were actually jist dreams I had their brain run through
while their bodies were hidden in a safe location in 2214, and
then, when the time was right, I woke them up and let them loose
on this new world. It’s good innit?”
Uncle Kenny pondered for a moment, watching the trail of smoke
fade into the air. “So if Aerin and John were never *in* the
past, and they’re nae actually *from* the past because they’ve
always been in 2214, how do we know that Aerin and John actually
ever did exist in the *real* 2014 in the first place?”
Aerin was quiet for a moment, Cha Cha Slide (Hardino Mix)
by DJ Casper was receding in the other room, he looked at
Britney for any kind of comfort. “Did we?”
“Ummmmmmmmmm,” said Britney.
“OH MY GOD.” Aerin shot out of his chair, hiding behind his
hands as angrily stormed off into the next room where Take a
Chance on Me by ABBA was working the crowd. The music
hammered through the soles of his feet as he stood still in the
centre of the commotion for a while feeling like the floor had
fallen out from under him. “OH MY FUCKING GOD,” he cried again,
unheard, at that one bit where Anna just goes off about a minute
in. Britney grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him back into
the throne room, waving the doors shut.
“Aye naw, you and John are actually real people in 2014, I
remember now.” She sat him down. “It’s fine mate, it’s fine,”
she said. “Definitely.”
“You’re sure?” said Aerin, holding his head up with his
elbows on the table, fingers knotted in his hair.
“Aye,” she said, rummaging through her folder. “I’ve got the
obituaries to prove it.”
Aerin sighed furiously.
“Fucking cheer up min,” said Uncle Kenny, offering Aerin a puff.
“See now you’ve a chance to make aw this better.”
“HOW?”
“Ugh, look,” said Britney, pulling a scrunched-up piece of lined
paper out from between her breasts. “Here, this is the simplest
way I can put it.”
Aerin looked up from the diagram. “So you’re
going to get us back into 2014 by… crashing?”
“Aye,” Britney nodded.
“Won’t that kill everyone in this timeline?”
She was quiet for a long moment. “No.”
“I’M NOT-”
“OKAY OKAY, WEESHT.”
Aerin tried to protest, but found his mouth glued shut.
“Okay, so technically: yes. BUT! Butbutbut, only in the sense
that they will have no longer been born yet. From your point of
view, at least.”
“Hmm hmm hmm hmm!?” said Aerin.
“What I mean is…time disna work how you think it works. Yous are
all cutting aboot thinking that the past and future dinnae
exist, you refuse to look up from the present moment, like a
baby who thinks things arenae there because they’re no looking
at them right this second. The way beings like masel perceive
time… it’s sort of like how when you’re reading some fantasy
novel where the hero’s in mortal danger and you know the author
wants this to be suspenseful like ‘aw naw what if he dies?’ but
secretly you ken that page 235 exists as a piece of paper in
your hand and if you turned to it right noo you’d see that he’s
completely fine. You know?”
Aerin was silent, arms folded.
“Oh aye.”
Able to speak again, Aerin sighed. “We’ve reached the point in
all of our conversations where I don’t know what you’re on about
and I don’t actually care. Can we go home now?”
“You’re remarkably unconcerned about the fact that John’s dead.”
“I’ve known John Boss for five days and I can’t remember how
many times he’s appeared to have died by this point.”
“Four.” The woman replied. “Canonically.”
Suddenly, everything started to get bright, a metallic screech rang out and
[INCOMMUNICABLE.]
Soft ocean waves brushed over the warm sand.
Aerin woke up peacefully, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to
find that he was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing
in the Crossroads Inn. A thick book was lying in his lap.
“Good morning, I woke up an hour ago,” said John Boss, who
reclined in the chair next to him.
“Right,” said Aerin. “I have no idea what anything is or why
it’s happening so before I sound crazy I just want you to
confirm that you did the ‘200 years into the future thing’ too,
yes?”
John gasped. “You too?”
Aerin sighed with something like relief and lay back in his
chair, looking out to the bright and shimmering sea. “This is
nice. Have you figured out where we are yet?”
“Somewhere in the Miragea, going by the…mirage.”
Aerin looked surprised. “I thought these were sailors’ myths
inspired by some boring tropical islands. Didn’t think they were
actually real.”
“Well they’re not.” John replied. “Until they are. Oh!” He shot
forward in his chair and pointed at the horizon. “See that
island? That wasn’t there a second ago.”
Aerin shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted. “Isn’t that
just a trick of the light though?”
“No, no! The islands literally do not exist, some for centuries
at a time, and then they just pop back in this general area of
the sea. This is actually where naughty cartographers go when
they die, the place is completely unmappable, so they just don’t
bother putting it on.” He relaxed back into his chair. “Love the
Miragea.”
“Just for the weather, or…?”
“There is always, always something new here. Some of the islands
have totally unique species, some of the islands have never even
been seen by a living thing before.”
During this natural pause, Aerin lifted the cover of the book.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“I have a book I didn’t have before. The first page reads ‘The
Spectacular Adventures of John Boss’ and is signed with a cat’s
paw print.” He tilted the book to show John, who took it and
rifled through its blank pages.
“There’s nothing here.”
“That’s because you haven’t had them yet.”
Boss looked offended. “I have had plenty of spectacular
adventures! My life doesn’t begin and end with your involvement
in them! And that’s the first deviation from the source
material: ‘Spectacular’! My ‘spectacular’ adventures.”
“Aren’t they?”
“The word is underselling them, don’t you think?” He handed the
empty book back to Aerin.
“Well what word would you use?”
“The… ‘The Unbelievable Adventures of John Boss’? No, that
suggests they’re not true. ‘The Jaw-Dropping Adventures of John
Boss’? ‘The Incredible Adventures of John Boss’?”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. The most important part
of any book is its actual plot, right?”
“Of course. You’re the author, tell me: what’s this ‘John Boss’
book about?”
“It’s about this muscular-” Boss flexed his arms in response
“-handsome,-” he twirled his moustache “-intellectual,-” he
rested his chin on his fist and looked contemplated the horizon
“-impeccably charming hero and the guy he’s writing a book
about.”
“Ha.” Said John.
“Well, John Boss, where would you say the story goes from here?”
“Hm,” Boss stood up and started slowly pacing over the soft
sand. “I know that Praeon II hasn’t been coronated yet, let
alone begun his siege of the whole continent. So we have time. I
also know that I’ve never heard of this ‘Red Death’ character in
all my travels, and that if there’s anyone in this world who can
help us, it’ll be him.”
“But the Red Death failed, John,” Aerin countered, swallowing
hard. “He’s destined to fall at the Battle of Dryadora.”
“Not if we help him,” replied John.
“How?”
“The Red Death failed because of three things: because of an
unanticipated technological disadvantage, because of his
soldiers’ lack of experience, and because of their wavering
conviction to a losing cause.”
“How do you know all that?” Aerin leaned forward in his chair.
“I anticipated something like this,” Boss replied. “Why else
would we be presented with a vision of a bleak future if not to
avert it? I asked around.”
“So what are you…” Aerin hesitated. “Going to do about that?”
“I’m an expert tactician and master of every form of physical
combat known to man. With my training, and with an expert
propagandist at his disposal…” John turned and looked at Aerin.
“I don’t follow,” said Aerin, following. “Did you learn anything
about me while you were… over there?”
“You’re a writer,” declared Boss. “Not an accomplished one, yet,
but if you can compose sonnets that leave a peasant girl
swooning onto your festering bed I’m sure you can write speeches
that send men roaring onto the battlefield.”
“I see,” Aerin nodded.
“And on that bombshell!” John bellowed, his movements becoming
large and dramatic. “Our hero and his stalwart biographer looked
out onto the shining sea…” Boss gestured at Aerin to complete
the passage, they saw not a mere plain of clear saltwater but a
vast and empty realm of possibility, a blank canvas upon which
they would write the next chapter of the history of Wurld and
its seven kingdoms! A daring mission with all the future hanging
in the balance! Incomprehensible creatures from worlds beyond
worlds! Blood-curdling villains! Impossible odds!
“Join them!”
boomed Aerin, stepping to Boss’ side, “as they embark on a quest
like no other, an action-packed, nay, ACTIONTACULAR adventure!”
John laughed. “Full of drama!” He swept his arm diagonally
upwards, Boss dodging the impact. “Romance!” Aerin put his hands
to his heart with an audible slap. “Danger! Mystery!
Death-defying feats of physical strength and intellectual
might!”
“So grab the quill, Aerin!” Boss took over.
“I don’t have one,” Aerin ran back to the empty book on the
chair to check.
“Because here’s where the history books get interesting! Here
the Actiontacular Adventures of John Boss begin in earnest, and
this is only chapter one…” John placed his foot on a rock with
his arms folded, the rising sun casting dramatic shadows on his
face, staring purposefully at the horizon like he was looking
for a fight. “…The story of how I saved the universe!”
JOHN BOSS WILL RETURN
IN
“Or!”
“What!?” John shouted as he turned around.
“Or, we could just kill this Praeon bastard ourselves?” Aerin
suggested. “Statistically speaking, two attempts on his life
have a better chance than one, and if we get this over with
sooner rather than later we do conveniently avoid the whole
‘world war’ thing, you know?”
“That’s another thing,” John started walking over to Aerin.
“‘We’. Who is ‘we’? You’re getting ideas above your station.”
“What do you mean!?”
“We’re not in this together Aerin, we’re not friends.” John
shook his head. “I hired you to do a job and you’ll do what I’m
paying you to. I considered making this a ghostwriting gig, but
I relented at the last moment.”
“Why? Out of curiosity.”
“It’s not so much an honour-bound aversion to having someone
else’s work attributed to me as much as it is an aversion to me
being attributed to anyone else’s work, if that makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Aerin nodded.
“Nevertheless I don’t want this to read like a piece of…
self-insert journalism, if you’re familiar with the genre. And
no…” he waved his hand, looking for the word. “Postmodern…
bullshit. Alright?”
“No postmodern bullshit,” I nodded, lying.
“Alright. Now that that’s settled, I think there’s a village not
far that way.”
THE GHOSTS OF ENGAIA PRISON