Z-A of an Apocalypse
Zedonk once roamed the savannah.
Yet we ignored their extinction, like our own.
Xyster winds scrapped soil from land, like flesh from bone.
We watched oil tankers turn to rust on the sand dunes of London.
Voices of nature, whispered then screamed. Muffled by our greed.
Useless products filled our homes and Apple filled our hungry hearts.
There is always tomorrow to fix it.
So we thought.
Ramparts of concrete couldn’t stop the floods.
Questions would come when it was too late.
Only interested in how they look on a TV screen.
Neanderthals would be laughing at us, if we hadn’t killed them already.
Mother Nature performs infanticide.
Life was ours to treasure.
Killing was what we chose.
Jetstream failures and pandemics.
Indigo tears fell from the eyes of infants.
Hell is other people, they say, but it was always us. Just us.
Given our time again, would we stop it? Could we stop it?
Formaldehyde mist creeps in the deserts of our failure.
Eugenics couldn’t save us. Our belief in our godlike powers was misguided.
Desperate children are bloodied and hungry. Orphaned by parents and nature.
Come, my child. The grim reaper calls them.
Bloodcurdling screams lost in the incessant winds.
Apocalypse is now.
I got a second award this week. A Special Mention for the format and content.
This story deserves a Special Mention for its unique acrostic effect, reminiscent of a countdown to destruction. Striking images, like that of the oil tanker ‘rust[ing] on the sand dunes of London‘ gave it huge power and visual appeal. The images grow more and more disturbing as the tale continues, until the final devastating line – ‘Apocalypse is now‘. This was a stunning piece of work.