Disco Queen

Charlotte watches her idol, the renowned Darrell Kevans, perform center stage at Studio 54. He is her disco king as the music blares and colored stage lights flash off and on behind him. Soft waves, skintight pants, a see-through shirt with a hint of man fur peeking out make her temperature rise. She cuts through the crowd. Positioning herself in the first row, she moves her hips and raises her arms overhead; the music overtakes her. Her lip-glossed smile hypnotizes him on stage. He stumbles over his lyrics then winks at her. She removes her necklace, tosses her perfumed heart-shaped locket at him, and then darts from the crowd.

Darrell is a wanted man, not in a dangerous sense – instead, with the ladies. He has his favorites, his go-to girls, his backups, and finally backups to his backups. Ultimately, his love life is criminal. Darrell beds all types of ladies: beauty queens, roller girls, adult pinups, porn stars, girls next door, groupies, the like. His manager takes on Darrell's nightly overflow at his after-parties. Too much is never enough for him. Symbols crowd the insides of his famous black book. Stars, dots, and circles punctuate the outside margins next to each lady's name – so much so – that he has a hard time decoding his system.

Darrell chases Charlotte, but she continues to turn down his roses. He buys her gold bracelets, designer dresses, and silk robes. She rejects each of his repeated attempts. She wants him to chase her so that one day – she can catch him. Besides, playing hard to get has never killed anyone – so keep it up, Darrell!

After years of chasing skirts, Darrell considers retiring his title belt. He lays down his bottle of vodka as he listens to "Love to Love You Baby." Feeling sensitive, he opens his sock drawer, combs through his belongings, and finds Charlotte's locket. He detects a hint of her lingering perfume. The band was able to locate it, despite it being another drug-fueled night onstage. One bottle and an eight-ball of coke down, he clutches her necklace then passes out on his king-sized waterbed.

***

Charlotte admires herself in the mirror. Sandy styles Charlotte's hair while her mom applies her makeup. With excitement, she positions her wedding gown straps atop her shoulders. Charlotte can't believe this day has come; it was all such a whirl – her dream man, the ring, the engagement. In a matter of minutes, she will officially be Charlotte Kevans; wait, no … Mrs. Darrell Kevans, thank you very much. Her mother takes her seat on the pew. She needs a moment as her thoughts spin and her nerves jumble. Is this the right thing to do? She asks her dad, even though he passed years ago. She imagines him telling her to take her future by the reigns. At peace, she opens the chapel door and begins the brave walk down the aisle all alone.

Darrell paces in his dressing room closest to the altar. His groomsmen toast glasses two ounces full of 20-year-old Laphroig. They clink glasses, talk a bit of crow, then hurry to dress. Darrell is happy; only, he awoke this morning with a case of wedding day jitters. That's normal, right? Everyone experiences these feelings. He wipes his beaded brow, buttons his vest, and attaches his cumber bun. His best man fixes his bow tie then connects his boutonniere. Robbie reassures Darrell then heads to the chapel to line up with the others. Darrell takes a deep breath, steps into the chapel, and tries to secure his slippery confidence.

***

Everything is pristine, absolute perfection. Charlotte loves all eyes on her while her friends and family gaze at her beauty. Darrell's forehead beads again. His suit grows tighter; his breath grows shorter, then he wipes his brow. She smiles at him; only he doesn't return the gesture. Instead, he looks uncomfortable. He stands with his legs a little farther apart to brace his fall. He wants to bolt. Charlotte is halfway down the aisle, steps from her new husband, words away from "I do." She overflows with excitement, with anticipation, and just then, a sound erupts overhead.

The church ceiling collapses as large chunks of debris fall onto their guests. The stained-glass windows explode, shooting colored shards all around. The posts and lintel caves, taking all the bridesmaids and groomsmen in one swipe. A beam sandwiches Father David's dead body between the broken altar. Charlotte's world turns from light to darkness in one blink.

Twenty-three minutes pass, Charlotte clears the rubble from around her head. With a broken arm and crushed bouquet, a large gash on her head oozes. She cries as she tries to free herself from the smokey debris. With her ankle shattered and foot broken, she calls out.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

"Is anyone alive … please say something … anything … please."

There is only silence.

She looks for a phone, but there is no sign of life. She screams. She looks towards the altar and notices there is only carnage and debris. The large timber beams running down the church center broke, taking down the cross beam above the altar then the entire ceiling. Her wedding dress, once white, is now a dark, dusty grey. She sits atop the heaps, cries dirty-faced, and screams again. This disaster hijacked her family, husband-to-be, and future all-in-one moment. Today was going to be her wedding day; instead, it was the day love came crashing down.

***

Darrell bolts from the chapel. As he looked at Charlotte walking down the aisle, his anxiety soared to astronomical levels. A panic attack takes him hostage. He runs from the church towards his car and drives towards his family's farm in Upstate New York. His eyes grow with disbelief as a mushroom cloud bursts across the skyline in his rearview mirror. The explosion takes down all signs of life for miles and miles. It's bigger than a tornado on steroids annihilating every structure, animal, and person within sight. He turns the radio knob in his Nova but hears nothing. Then an AM announcer's voice crackles through the interference.

"Attention! This is a national emergency. I repeat, a national emergency. One hundred twenty-five nuclear reactors caught fire today, resulting in an enormous mushroom cloud over the NYC skyline. The blowback took out everything around us while no other countries have returned a signal. This is a massive worldwide disaster. I repeat, this is a MASSIVE WORLDWIDE DISASTER. Please anyone who can hear me, anyone still alive – we have radioactive levels of over 750,000 ppm. These are fatal amounts, I repeat, fatal. Death will result in a matter of hours. As of now, there are no known survivors. My radio station is a mound of rubble. I have two broken legs and a gash on my head. I crawled over, and I have this last bit of airtime. Please save your s e l f."

Darrell races 110 mph towards his family farm. Upon arriving, he kicks open the front door to find his extended family members dead. His grandfather's fallen livestock dot the landscape. He grabs several guns and bags full of food then heads to the underground shelter. His great uncle built it in the late '40s, then a WWII vet with a terrible case of PTSD. Darrell figures the bunker to be packed for years to come. Inside, he shuts the door tight. Turning the wheel clockwise keeps the radiation from seeping in around the edges. At 750,000 ppm, he doesn't want to risk anything.

He pulls the dangling cord to lighten the dark cave. Despite the thick layer of dust, he is thankful to escape the grizzly carnage. He finds a key in one of the desk drawers and unlocks the door to two deeper rooms. Inside he finds backup lights, hundreds of gallons of water, food rations, books, paper, and pens. Doing the math, he can survive another fifty-five years. He just needs to be mindful of portion sizes and to look past the expiration dates. Darrell knows how he will spend his remaining years: writing and singing songs, reading books, and penning his autobiography. He removes his suit, changes into camos, and begins day one.

***

Charlotte stumbles outside to witness the aftermath. The widespread death and infinite fires frighten her, so she returns to the church. Upon discovering a hidden tunnel, Charlotte decides to rest below the rubbled surface. She consumes whatever food she can find. A nearby radio announcer describes the state of the world, then dies soon afterward. She cries, knowing hers was not the only life affected. For days she hobbles around in her wedding dress, unable to find any other clothing. She feels like a Dicken's cliché, so she rips away at her grey-stained dress until it becomes undecipherable in the mirror.

She scrapes together the makings of her future: bits of this and that – reading material, cans of food, five-gallon bottles of water, and jugs of wine. By day 36, she questions everything: her friends, family, whether Darrell even loved her. She obsesses about one detail: that smile he never returned as she walked down the aisle. That moment plays on an endless loop inside her head. She pulls out another fist full of hair while she clings daily to her sanity. Tomorrow she will venture outside; the threat of radiation matters less and less to her.

The following day, she eats a can of beans and drinks two cups of wine. She wraps her body in whatever sheets she can find, presses down her hair on her nearly bald head, and travels upstairs. She prepares for her big day, takes a deep breath, and pulls the door handle. Wearily she pokes her head outside. Just then, the remaining part of the church structure falls and takes her out completely.

***

Fifty-five years have passed, and the world experiences a new normal. The atmosphere remains radiation-free while plastic mechanical livestock grazes in their bucolic nylon pastures. Robotic arms pick acres upon acres of GMO-filled fruit orchards lining the hills, and farming machines cultivate petroleum-soaked fertilized vegetation along the scenic highways. Space travel is within reach at 1M per ship. Gas masks are optional; N95 masks, however, are mandatory. A biological threat has taken civilization's throat by the neck: COVID 799. A new virus is at large, creating a worldwide pandemic. Alien One and Alien Two find a bunker on a tiny farm in Upstate New York. They are eager to protect themselves from the threat. Taking an ax, they try to break open the lock on the hatch.

Bang.

Silence.

Bang.

They hear a thud.

An eighty-five-year-old Darrell sits frightened in his cave with his disco queen's locket close to his heart. He's dismissed his guilt for abandoning Charlotte at the altar. Fifty-five years later, he has forgiven himself for his dreadful behavior and his commitment phobia.

The clangs outside grow louder. He panics. Bang. He swallows the emergency capsule found inside his uncle's desk drawer. Bang. He cannot bear to see what is on the other side. Bang. Will his face melt off? Bang. Will everyone be dead? Bang. Could he live with himself if Charlotte is still alive? Bang. Can he survive on the outside? Bang. His agoraphobia has a hold on him, still a prisoner all these years. Bang. He scrambles to find water, wine, anything to wash down the cyanide. BANG. Within minutes, his lids grow heavy. He fights to stay awake. BANG. He remembers the days when he made music. BANG. BANG. His pulse slows. His eyes tear. BANG. He obsesses. His lasts thoughts crowd his mind.

I refuse to be a nobody, a has-been; Dammit! I'm a world-famous disco s t a rrrrrr.

Time of death: 3:32 pm, March 18, 2033.

*** Enjoy reading my stories on Vocal? Please consider leaving me a tip so that ideas can come to me more easily. I love the idea of bringing you enjoyment. ****