Oceania, Tis For Thee, Dominic Muldowny, 1984, The Movie
The Event
Click, snap, pop. The holographic news pundit on the television screen disappeared in tandem with the house's lights, appliances, and HVAC. Silence roared with its tinnitus thrum in the vacuum created in the wink of an eye.
Sam checked his cell phone for his social status beacon, but a blank screen was his reward. Stumbling in a panic to the front window, his held breath puffed out in explosive relief. The entire neighborhood was dark. Across the night sky, yellowish green and purple ribbons danced against a black velvet canvas littered with stars. He was relieved he wasn't being canceled for some social miscalculation, so his heart rate returned to normal.
"Aurora borealis," he whispered, "Strange, I've never seen it this far south."
Unconcerned, he went to bed, trusting that all would be well tomorrow. Easing onto his designated one-fifth of the bed, his wife stirred and rolled over but didn't wake. He had learned never to disturb Joanie once she was asleep. His beautiful wife represented one of the few overachievements in his otherwise mundane life. They were one of those couples where others would stare and ponder the question, how did a guy like him hook up with her? Without fooling himself, he knew the answer wasn't wealth or good looks but his International Passport that afforded her the same. Everyone has a price.
***
Sunlight burst through the bedroom window like an interrogation lamp. Blinded by its brilliance, he had no perception of the time. Raising his arm, he realized his digital watch had died along with his phone. Addled by the absence of accustomed sounds, like the clopping of the old man with the horse-drawn recycling wagon, Joanie drying her hair in the bathroom, and the next-door neighbors arguing in a language he didn't understand, his heart rate rose.
He leaped from the bed to examine his phone. The screen remained dead. Delilah, the centralized house app, had failed to wake him up, brief him on current news, and provide a weather report.
"Delilah, give me the news, please," he said.
The house app didn't respond. In a state of confusion, Sam sat on the edge of the bed, lost without his daily instructions. Where is my wife? He thought. What would Delilah tell me to do?
“A clean face shows grace,” she always said, “A shower is power.”
The showerhead's steady spray began lukewarm but turned to an ice-cold trickle while he was still lathered in soap. Slow rinsing the suds away required him to exceed the five-minute limit. He would lose ten social points. Toweling off, he wondered what Delilah had scheduled for breakfast. Thursdays were usually avocado-infused yogurt on toast.
If the power is out, could she still monitor me?
Fully dressed, he entered the main room to find Joanie stretching on the floor in her yoga pants and top.
"Hey there, things are messed up everywhere, so I got in a good run," she said, breathing heavily.
A knock thudded on the door. Conditioned to the mandatory ring camera alerting him of a visitor and Delilah approving the intrusion, he was startled. The prevailing question in his head frightened him.
"What do we do?" he said.
"Answer the door, Sam. Geez. It's probably our neighbor Simone with news," she said.
***
Sam eased the door open to peer outside. A hand gripped the edge and thrust the wood structure into his face. Blood ruptured from his forehead as he was slammed backward. Their neighbor Simone pushed the door open and stepped into the house with a hatchet. Liquid red velvet dripped from its blade onto the floor.
"What took so long? You were supposed to be here while he was in the shower just like Cynthia?" Joanie said, "Less mess to clean up."
"Yeah, the witch started moaning after you left. I had to finish her off," he said, raising the hatchet.
"Man, why did you do that?" Sam said.
"Because you're a leech Sam," Joanie said, "A solar flare struck Earth last night. The power grid is dead, cars are dead, machines are dead, and studies show only seventeen percent are going to survive an Electro Magnetic Pulse event. You won't. Simone and I have a real connection and we will."
"I love it when you talk that way, babe," Simone said as Joanie snuggled close and kissed him.
"Connection? You two? You've been having an affair?" Sam said. "You murdered Cynthia?"
"No, Simone proved his love for me. Now, it's my turn," Joanie said, taking the hatchet from Simone's hand.
Seeing the bloodstains adorning both of their shirts, Sam leaped from the floor and ran out the front door. Delilah always said,
“If it’s not fun, you have to run.”
"Get him," said Joanie.
"Nah, let him go, he won't last a day in this new world without Delilah and her yogurt," said Simone.
***
The Escape
I ran. They had murdered Cynthia, and I was next. Automobiles sat in the street where they had died the night before. Two men fought in a front yard, one with a machete sliced through his opponent's hand at the wrist. Blood spurt onto the ground.
"I told you. The beer is mine," the victor said as he swung the machete into the back of his neighbors neck.
I ran faster until I reached the gate and turned right towards the center of town. More cars sat idle on the road. On Main Street, shop windows shattered, and mobs milled from aisle to aisle, ransacking, fighting, and laughing hysterically. Groups banded together and overpowered individuals.
A frail man wearing glasses exited the grocery with a case of bottled water. Another ran up behind him with a steel bar, slammed it into his head, and his glasses shattered as he fell limp to the ground. "Not today, bud,” screamed the assailant. The plastic-wrapped case ruptured on the pavement, and water bottles scattered over Main Street. One rolled to my feet; I picked it up and ran.
Magnum Dynamics, where I worked, was at the far end of town. Delilah always said,
“The workplace is a safe space,” I needed a safe space.
The security shack was unattended, and I stepped through the employee entrance. I had never seen the production line dark. Bob, my robot trainee, lay idle at our station. I flipped open the control panel under his collar and pushed the reset button as I had been taught. Not a light flashed, nor the mechanical “good morning” he had greeted me with everyday. Bob was dead. A gunshot rang out and echoed off the factory walls like we were in a canyon.
"Good one Dad. You got him in the face," said a young, excited voice.
"Screw the robots. Who's in charge now CP30?" belched a deep voice. I could swear it was Mr. Robards the plant manager.
Slipping out of the building I stopped in the center of Main Street unsure what to do. I reached for my phone to ask Delilah, but it was at the house. Besides, it was dead. Everything was dead. I looked south, and the rioting continued in the town center, so I moved to the edge of the woods and hid.
Exhausted, I sat on the shaded ground sipping the water that had found me. I hadn’t run in years, I never stayed outdoors, and I'd been a good citizen doing precisely what I was told to do. With no one to guide me, and I was lost. More gunshots reverberated from Magnum, much louder, much closer than before. I guessed Bob must be dead, double dead now.
A path led me into the forest, away from the chaos. I was afraid of the unknown, but the non-violent alternative was attractive. I walked for hours and came upon a clearing, a pasture. A mound of hay lay at its center. Ignoring the hazard of the germs and bacteria, I rested there for a while until the sun curved down a falling arch to set. Mentally and physically drained with an aching head, I fell into a deep sleep.
***
I woke the following morning to a blonde horse nuzzling my forehead with its warm silky muzzle. The scent of sweet, decayed grass, like lawn mower cuttings, filled my nostrils. Startled, I jerked, and the horse stepped back and snorted.
"A horse is trying to eat me. Oh my god," I said and scuttled on my butt away from the threat.
I had never touched or been touched by an animal in my life. They were nasty germ bags and guaranteed a short life for those who did. “Touch the animals, you’ll be a criminal. You will endanger everyone,” Delilah had said.
Tears streamed down my face as I realized the extent of my wife's betrayal, the sudden violence of the world, and that I was alone. More devastating to me was the truth that I had no clue what to do about it. I missed my Delilah and her wisdom.
The palomino horse, a female, I think, grazed the grass nearby throughout the morning. The quiet of the pasture disturbed me. Birds sang their songs, and grotesque bugs buzzed me. Red bumps accumulated on my arms and face from mosquitos, gnats, and black flies. By midafternoon my throat burned from thirst, my stomach rumbled from hunger, and my pest-ravaged body itched.
The mare trotted toward the pasture's tree-lined border, stopped, looked over her shoulder, and neighed. She's trying to communicate, but what? Turning and galloping halfway between us, she stopped and threw her head towards the tree line. Was it an invitation or a demand? If she intended me harm, I would already be injured.
With nothing to lose, I stood and followed her and discovered a crystal-clear pool with an outflow of water springing from an outcrop of granite. Tempted, I dropped to the ground and watched her as she dipped her muzzle in the water and drank.
I can't drink untreated water. It may be filled with bacteria and parasites. Delilah always said, "Drink labeled supplies, drink nature you die."
Dire thirst convinced me I had one of three choices, return to town to be murdered, remain here to die, or drink the water and maybe perish from a long, tortuous death. I chose the maybe and decided to trust my new Delilah. Filling my water bottle from the spring, I raised it to my quivering, parched lips. Never in my life had I sampled anything so sweet. If water could have a flavor, it would be the most glorious drink I had ever tasted.
Thank you, Delilah.
Shadows grew long as the sun descended once again. Delilah trotted toward a trail at the far end of the pasture, stopped, and turned to me. She's inviting me to follow. I didn't want to spend another night alone.
Weak from the lack of food and desperate for guidance, I followed her into the woods. The trail wound through a darkening forest tunnel to a new world. Is this how the pioneers felt?
A barn rose before us in the fading light, and I followed her inside. Weary, I collapsed onto a pile of hay and fell asleep as the voice of Delilah whispered in my mind, “A good night’s sleep, makes your life complete.”
***
The Reality
Sam woke to the twin eyes of a double-barreled shotgun inches from his face. The wrinkle-faced man from the recycling wagon that frequented his neighborhood gripped the gun stock to his shoulder and said,
"Don't move or I will blast you into oblivion."
"I mean no harm, sir. Delilah led me here," Sam said.
"Delilah? Who the hell is Delilah?" The old man stepped back and yelled over his shoulder.
"Martha, bring the chains. We have another one of those dumbass city sheep to fatten up for the winter larder."
Sam screamed, “Delilah, DELILAH! Why have you forsaken me?”
*** *** ***
Turn, Turn, Turn. The Byrds
About the Creator
J. S. Wade
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. S. Wade owns all work contained here.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Comments (15)
This was a great little apocalypse! I almost thought it was an Orwellian dystopia right up until the moment you let the cat out of the bag! While Sam might not have long, this story is definitely going places. Great work!
There is just no rest for Sam! What a horrifying look at the future, Scott. I mean, I don't disagree, but, just, wow. Characterizing Sam through the Alexa equivalent, Delilah, is fantastically done. His inability to think on his own, driven to survive through Delilah's rhyming propagandisms, is so well executed. I love seeing him struggle with that and his own sense of self. Plus, the wit in this Samson and Delilah take is not lost on me, and I enjoyed all that was revealed at the end, the horror and humor alike. Always a pleasure. :D
You are incredible. Really.
Classic Scott Wade. Very well written. The words come together with a conversational ease making the story came alive and the plot and twists believable. As always great job!!!
Poor, poor Sam. I imagine him escaping the farm with New Delilah, but judging by his lack of outdoors survival skills, he’s probably doomed either way haha. Love the witty sense of humor and the twists involved. This was so much fun to read. Very clever! I think this is one of my favorite of yours so far.
Great job spinning the weave on this one, Scott. Stellar twists, very well written!
This is a gripping story to read - I enjoyed it! And feel kinda bad for Sam and his predicament of being such a sheep. 💕
Oh my! The twists, the betrayal - you are such a great story teller, my friend! 😍❤️ Super enjoyed this. Poor Sam, oh my gosh!
Did Delilah lure Sam there to cut his hair & leave him defenseless for this Philistine? Great story.
Hahahahahahahahaha why have you forsaken me Delilah? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 God that was so funny! Note to self, in case of a solar flare, DO NOT trust a horse. I wonder whose betrayal is worse for Sam, Joanie or New Delilah 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
I'd read a full-length novel about this guy's adventures! (Assuming he somehow escapes the larder- Delilah's help?) I keep trying to use the possibility of an EMP burst as an excuse to convince my wife we need to buy a fully original, perfect condition '69 Pontiac Firebird but it hasn't worked. I need to get her to read "Citizen Sam" Scott. Thanks for the new ammo! 'He was relieved he wasn't being canceled for some social miscalculation'. Ah, the new pillory for our times! A thoroughly entertaining read Scott ❕❕
Fantastic storytelling!!! Loved it💖💖💕
Poor Sam
Wow, talk about twists! I enjoyed this immensely, Scott! Apparently we've been thinking about similar plotlines, up to a point. I just published a new microfiction entry based on "After The Event."
The bit about "one fifth of the bed" got me. Shots fired 😮