a solution to a difficult situation
The clock struck thirteen, it was mean-time.
I chanced to glance upon the television, there I saw a most disturbing scene: Children. Well, bits-of-children, anyway. Unattached bits of children.
The sound was on mute as television had not been my preferred means of keeping up with the news, nevermind entertainment.
These bits-of-bodies apparent to me were not a part of some military fiction show nor an appeal from an agency making urgent requests for money. No, this was the daytime news. Daytime news on live network broadcast. Most odd.
I looked to my project, I looked back at the screen. My landline phone rang. I ignored the call. Turning my radio off, I turned up the sound on the television.
“… appeared without any warning as if from thin air …”
The news item showed video from the scene. Children riding their bikes but then, indeed as if from nowhere, devices appeared on the path. Too quickly for the children to avoid. Bits-of-bodies.
“… repeat … they are appearing at an increasing rate in all locations …”
All locations, I mused. Surely, not!
Twas then I heard the familiar pitter-patter and scritch-scratch of my local friend come to pay a visit.
I went to the front-room window and drew back the curtains …
‘All Locations,’ the reporter had said.
Foxy had been impatient with me and had gone away from the window to nuzzle and sniff an object on the lawn. One of many objects. Objects all over the garden, the path, the close’s road.
So, many varieties.
I was about to throw open the sash-window when I noticed a wire running along the outside of it to … a fucking Claymore.
Not the jabby, slashy kind of Claymore.
Foxy looked at me attentively and seemed to be asking if I should like him to carry one of the devices to me. There were all kinds. Butterflies. Spring-loaded. Environmentally friendly.
Foxy could easily trigger some of the smaller ones. At least, Squizzle …
Oh, talk of the Devil.
Fortunately, the phone rang again, I decided to answer it.
“Kampfner.”
“Why so formal, bro?”
I knew it was going to be him.
“I suppose you are delighted.”
“Me? Delighted? By anti-personnel devices appearing everywhere?”
“Are you?”
“Yes. How many have you got in your place?”
“Just the ones I’m working on. You?”
“Every surface,” he sounded unpleased by my lack of anti-personnel devices in my personal space.
“Outside?”
“I can’t get up to see.”
“I’ve got them outside. All over the close. And, a command wire to a Claymore on the window that Foxy uses to announce himself.”
“Ah, good old Foxy. Squizzle?”
I coughed, uncomfortably.
“Being a bit too curious.”
“I see … Well, you and your mates have doomed us all. I’m not saying that this is divine intervention but whatever it is it is one-hundred percent effective.”
He sounded his usually cheery self once more. Then, he hung up.
Pouring myself a drink, I assumed my position at my auto-cad workstation but logged into the secure communications network.
The inbox was brimming with mail that was minutes old. Requests for status updates. Requests to go on the secure secure network network. Vid-conf invites.
To be away from modern life and yet to be always contactable. To be on a new build estate on land away from motorways and main roads. To be in a village in the countryside. To be close to nature … so that I could design better bombs in peace.
Perhaps the life of a gentleman did not hide the awful bastardry of my living from the force that was now showering our land with live munitions.
We had to make weapons.
The price of peace is eternal profit for the arms dealers.
Making better area-denial systems for a more competetive post-limb medical insurance market.
Copying what you see around you.
Closing the ssnn, I opened a tab on World news … The other World. The World our businesses ravage to make our world safe and convenient.
And, there, there there was there children playing there, women at markets there, men drinking sweet-tea at cafés there. And, there they looked at us through screens, watching us unable to live in our homes, watching us unable to go outside.
And, do you think that they should feel sorry for us?
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2024-01-01 0044 started
2024-01-01 0145 finished
quangobaud 