(Installment #5) Mothology: Revolution

In Vegas Only Bookstore by Christine McKellar

Installment #5
Mothology: The Invasion
June 10, 2031 posted by Admin/Alison
     I’m numb. And we’re all a bunch of pathetic dupes and dummies. I flew home from West Virginia today. Sam, my youngest son, is enrolled in the FBI academy there. I attended his graduation. Like most others my age, I don’t deny myself too many of life’s little pleasures these days. I splurged on a First-Class ticket both ways. I was leafing through a magazine when the man across the aisle from me sneezed violently. I glanced in his direction and murmured a polite, “God bless you.” He removed his glasses to dab at his eyes with a handkerchief—and I froze. I’d recognize that profile anywhere.
     I peered closely at the man so casually sipping on a glass of champagne. His hair was dark brown and only slightly threaded through with gray: His skin damn near as smooth and even as a pampered woman’s. But it was the profile that caught my eye —that distinctive profile had to belong to Senator David Evans. The handsome and wildly popular Nevada senator had served two successful terms. The entire state and numerous officials in DC had mourned his passing five years ago—an elite sixty-six-year-old victim of the class-indifferent nano-mites.
     My heart began to beat in a slow thumping rhythm. My vision blurred. I blinked rapidly, then angled myself in my seat so I could further study my in-flight neighbor. I wanted to see his hands. I know from personal experience that you can have all the expensive plastic surgery in the world, but a dead giveaway to someone’s age is their hands. My fellow passenger picked up his champagne glass again. I watched as he casually brought the glass to his lips. My vision sharpened. I saw little tufts of white hair on his knuckles. I could also see fine wrinkles at the base of his fingernails. There were prune-like ridges of skin around the nail beds. There were no liver spots on his manicured hands, but those fingertips definitely belonged to a much older man.
     You see? My gut instinct was right. There truly is an antidote or serum capable of killing off the nano-mites. Just as there are antibiotics and anti-venoms in the world that kill jungle fungi and assorted parasites in the human body: There is a cure for the scourge on our planet. I’m now completely convinced it’s been withheld for the benefit of an elite and select few who are hiding out in plain sight—right under our noses—and living to a ripe old age. If Senator Evans is alive, so are the rest of them; Vice-President Dickey and a score of governors and senators who have seemingly passed on. European royalty. Hollywood icons. Billionaire entrepreneurs. They must have faked their deaths too; then reinvented themselves complements of plastic surgery and body enhancements. Many are most likely enjoying the good life in Europe or Asia. And? Wonder of wonders? The United States currently has the lowest Federal Deficit on record. Worldwide poverty and crime are at the lowest levels in all of history.
     The only good thing to have come out of this nano-nightmare to date is that civilization as a whole seems to have gained a new appreciation for the gift of life. Peace treaties and accords have been signed and ratified that were unheard of only a few short years ago. This proves that there’s a basic need in the human psyche to band together in times of extreme duress. During those same times, humans tend to seek out leadership. They turn to the strongest. The most vigorous. Leaders with stamina. It’s our strength and it’s our weakness. It’s the stuff of legends and mythology. And, just as in any good legend or myth, “there be monsters out there”.
     Well, monsters, I’m pretty much all that’s left of the disbanded vanguard of so many years ago. Barring any unforeseen accidents or illnesses, I still have about ten years left to live. I also have a massive database of intelligent “youngsters” who don’t wish to be automatically and unjustly condemned to death by a preordained accuser, judge, and jury. We are not going to lie down and die. We are going to hunt down all of you and expose you to the world. We are going to get our hands on your stockpiled chemicals that are the antidote to the nano-mites.
     We will make you pay not just for your sins but for the sins of all tyrants before you. You can count on seeing a New World Order on the horizon. This hellish nightmare that began here in the Nevada desert, in Sin City, the City of Lights: this nightmare that sprang from one single beam of conductive radiant energy and a host of mindless, swirling nocturnal creatures? This nightmare is being handed back to you on a precious-metal platter. This nightmare has turned on its tail and is now our Golden Dream.
     With the same stealth, with the same determination and will to survive, and with the same relentless energy as shown by the minuscule nano-mite invaders, our resilient armies will infiltrate and destroy the very fiber of your monstrous, soulless hierarchy. There is a place for such as you: We will send you forward to where you belong. “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”
As to my fellow warriors waiting in the wings (no pun intended)? Welcome to the Age of Mothology. Register here today! www.cnqr&dstry.prvt/code.
 This short story is a work of fiction. People, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.© “Mothology” 2004 Christine L. McKellar aka C.L. McKellar. All rights reserved. No part of this work of fiction may be translated, reproduced, transmitted or used in any form or format or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright owner.