Ending Persephone

It's dark. The wind carries the stench of sewage throughout the city. Will waits on the roof of what remains of the Wilshire Grand Center with his Barrett M82 sniper rifle. Although desolate and empty, he is captivated by the view of Los Angeles 1,000 feet in the air.

Thirteen years have passed since World War Three altered life completely: there is no sun to dance in, no lush green grass to lay on, no life to celebrate; there is only darkness. In that darkness lies hope. Electus, an organized group consisting of one female and one male hand-selected from each country around the globe. With them are scientists, engineers, hydroponic farmers, children, and two of each animal and insect; all serving their purpose here in the After World.

The causalities of World War Three were catastrophic. However, many who survived the war believe those who were killed by it were the lucky ones.

Independent groups who went underground were driven mad by isolation. Attempting to save these people, the Electus communication center urged them not to return to the surface; they did anyway. Their skin bubbled and burned from the radiation. Long-term exposure caused limb alteration, severe osteoarthritis, cancer, and swelling in the brain. Their ability to form words and express emotions became obsolete; they resembled animals living strictly on instinct.

There is no food to eat on the surface because there is no sun to support photosynthesis. Without nourishment from the earth, these people turned on each other for food. These cannibals, also called Canna by Electus, have a queen. Her name is Persephone. She is a ruthless and intelligent woman with eyes so dark the moon wishes to dance in them. Her long hair, blacker than the devil's soul, drags behind her wherever she walks. She wears a silk, blood-red tunic and a crown fashioned from human bones.

Persephone has twelve disciples who carry out her demands; and more importantly, torture the Canna into submission. The disciples use the Canna to capture and eat our people. All missions to end her reign have failed.

Eyes closed with visible breath, Will whispers, "One-shot, one chance to fix this." He opens his eyes and looks down. He searches for strength in the form of a heart-shaped locket given to him by his daughter. He rubs the locket with his thumb. Still looking down, Will says out loud, "Daddy's coming home." Determined to fulfill his promise, he slips the locket back into his pocket.

It's 2200 hours. Persephone and her disciples will pass through any moment. At first, Will rehearses the shot repeatedly in his mind's eye. But as the distant chanting from the Canna fades, he finds himself daydreaming of home. Not the home he helped erect underground to conserve humanity, but the forgotten home he's looking at. He is present in that home, but it isn't there. What was once a thriving city, full of life from all corners of the earth, is now a desecrated concrete jungle.

In the silence, Will recalls the frustrating memory of waiting at the traffic light on S Grand Ave and W 8th St. Every morning, on his way to get coffee from the Capital One Cafe, he would sit and wait five minutes for the light to turn green. He chuckles as he remembers the tantrums he threw.

"Fives minutes," Will says smiling, shaking his head. "I would give anything to sit at that light for five minutes now." Looking out into the new world he felt foolish for allowing something so insignificant to influence his emotions.

Wills hears a hum in his earpiece followed by a stern voice. “Target is in motion.” Uncomfortable with the return to the present reality, Will looks through his rifle and waits for his target.

"Stay vigilant, target is approaching." Confirms the voice of Will's comrade stationed atop a parking garage a few blocks over. To the right, Will hears a faint noise off in the distance. He positions his scope on the corner of S Figueroa St and W 8th St, just as they rehearsed. As the sound grows nearer, he can hear the struggling effort of the engine.

"One-shot," He says smiling, looking through the scope. Headlights break through the night fog, "One-shot," He says again. Pushing down on his earpiece Will speaks to his comrade. “Target sighted. Taking the shot." But before he can pull the trigger, he feels a sharp pain in his neck.

"Fuck!" Will shouts. He reaches to relieve the pain and removes a needle. Puzzled, he looks down at it. Eyes, once wide from shock, grow heavy. He loses strength in his legs and falls forward, barely catching himself on the ledge. The heart-shaped locket that once gave him strength now lay vulnerable to the night sky. He reaches for it with insufficient strength, crashing into the concrete. Arms numb at his side, his cheek against the cold, rough floor, he cries out, "I'm sorry baby," He fights to keep his eyes on the locket. "Daddy is so sorry." Unable to fight the drugs any longer, his eyes close.

Uncertain how much time has passed, he wakes to a blinding light. He attempts to shield his face but he can't feel his arms. Turning to the left and notices a wall with drawings. Adjusting to the light, he follows the wall to the ground discovering a blood-soaked floor. Still feeling the effects of the drugs, he struggles to comprehend where he is. Terrified to look, he draws his eyes toward his body. His arms are gone. Panic surges through his veins. Weak, he tries to throw his body around attempting to free himself from the bonds around his chest. He screams for help, but it's no use. Tears pour from his eyes. Hopeless and out of breath, he lies there whimpering. Then suddenly, he hears a woman's voice.

"You almost had me."