The End - Visions of Apocalypse

“The moon?!” Mother Earth gasped, inadvertently raising her voice and shattering windows all throughout the little village of television vehicles. “That’s as far as you’ve managed? Just what have you been doing all this time? You’ve been hurling yourselves up into space for how long now and you’ve only gotten to the moon?”

“Space travel isn’t quite that simple,” Chapman said. “Besides, we didn’t realize we had so little time.”

“Well, I won’t say I’m not disappointed. You’ve got eight other planets right in your own back yard and here you are still clinging to Mother’s apron strings. Well, seven really, the less said about Mercury the better…”

“Actually, we don’t count Pluto as a planet anymore,” Chapman muttered, lost in thought.

“Ooh, listen to him now, getting to say who’s a planet and who isn’t! I’d like to see you pop round to Pluto and tell him that to his face. He’d let you have what for, believe you me.”

“I’m sorry,” Chapman said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just a lot to take in at once. We’re only just coming to grips with you talking to us, then you tell us you’re dooming our civilization just so you can take a vacation.”

“It’s retirement, sweetheart. You come back from vacation.” She lowered her voice. “It’s not that I’m unsympathetic, love. But it was a non-refundable deposit, you see.”

Chapman spread his hands. “But this is all we have.”

“What’s that they say about eggs and baskets?” Mother Earth chided. The prayers were growing louder now. “I say, what are they going on about?”

“They’re praying for deliverance,” Chapman said, lowering his arms with a sigh.

“Pray for some spaceships, that might be useful.”

“Actually, they’ve been waiting for this. They always believed the world would end and they’d be whisked up to Paradise.”

“Ooh, that sounds nice,” Mother Earth beamed. “Is that one near Alpha Centauri?”

Chapman laughed ruefully. “No. If you ask me, it doesn’t exist. But it’s funny. All my scientific knowledge has just been thrown out the window, yet their faith endures.” He looked down and shook his head. “So how long do we have?”

“Oh, not very long at all, I should think,” Mother Earth replied.

“As bad as that, is it?”

“Well it’s not like I can keep them waiting, dearie. I should be off in two, maybe three hundred thousand years at the most.”

Chapman’s jaw dropped. “Three hundred thousand years?”

“It’s not much notice, I know, but if I don’t go soon, I’ll lose my spot. And Esther will be so put out.”

Chapman threw his head back and laughed, long and hard, until tears ran down his face and his sides ached. “What’s so funny, love?” Mother Earth asked.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I think I might just believe in miracles now,” he said, and continued laughing.

TRISTIS WARD Mother and Child

Tristis Ward lives and writes in Fredericton, New Brunswick. After a degree in English at Dalhousie University, she worked for years in community radio as a producer, station manager, and national lobbyist. She has written comic book scripts, short stories and plays as well as producing both stage and radio plays. She has long participated online in the SFFWorld.com forum and is a multiple winner in their flash fiction contests. Her first graphic novel, Bones of the Magus is available from Broken Jaw Press.

Mother and Child is a prelude to Bones of the Magus, but is a great stand-alone story presented in a unique format. It will take you into a strange new universe where worlds fall at the hands of wizards and science, and nothing is safe — not even your soul.