I finished. My teacher started reading it and was like "..Izzy.." but she hasn't finished and didn't really say anything. Only on page three (of 9 when doublespaced) atm. Enjoy. Some parts are meant to be italicized, but was it was type in TextEdit, use your best judgment for that. Sorry. The ending is sorta meh... Because I got really tired after a while.
Jack Durden and the Meaning of Life
Izzy <Last Name>
Sirens roar in the street below. Children cry, screaming for their parents - most of whom are already dead. Bombs sound, the shrieks of man now only faint noises, muffled by the ear-piercing explosions.The date is September 19th, 2037. The UN has been at war for the last two decades, and the nuclear holocaust is finally upon us. It's literally Hell on Earth, but it seems that someone even more corrupt than Satan, (who else than our once-beloved government?) is pulling the strings. It's every man, woman, and child for himself, with the same mortality rate for all - definite annihilation.
Jack Durden looks out of the cracked window in his run-down Brooklyn apartment. Sighing, but not particularly bothered by the chaos, he walks to his couch and sits down. Television remote in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, Jack flips through the channels mindlessly, thinking about his life. There probably wasn't a more self-loathing man alive. Growing up, Jack was raised by very strict Christian parents, born from a long lineage of doctors and lawyers. Much was expected from him, most of which he wasn't capable of living up to. When he was fifteen, Jack was caught by his parents engaged in homosexual activities, and after a long confrontation and several trips to church, he came out as atheist. His parents, clearly appalled, enforced hours of bible study onto Jack, with lectures and religious neighbors around 24/7. Having enough of it, Jack ran away. Scarcely mature enough to pass off as someone who was old enough to drive, Jack was caught, arrested, and tried for auto-theft and drug trafficking. His parents were notified, but isolated themselves from their son, who was a 'shame to the family name'. Jack spent the next two and a half years of his life in juvie.
Released at eighteen, Jack was through with school and became a cab driver. The next seventeen years of his life were wasted with the same ol' routine: Wake up miserably. Drive posh, annoying tourists around all day. Go home and drink until passed out. When he was thirty-five, Jack joined Alcoholics Anonymous and got over his addiction. He was an aspiring policeman until recently, but angrily gave up his hopes after failing out of the classes he was taking online through the local community college. Life was terrible, and if the suicidal state wasn't so hard to get into, Jack would have probably offed himself ages ago. After all, what's it matter if the world has one less thirty-eight year old, overweight, smoking, loser?
Now drinking again, with the end of the world eminent, Jack closed his eyes and pondered the meaning of life. This wasn't unusual or new to Jack. In fact, at least 90% of the conversations Jack had with himself incorporated origin, purpose, and the supernatural. To him, God was 'thought-crime', and he actually used the 1984 method of 'double-think' to relearn life without this misogynistic and malevolent being. Unfortunately, Jack didn't have the same advantages as Winston Smith, with a brotherhood literally forcing him to erase and alter his thinking style. Thought crime occurred, and there were no threats to Jack to keep it from happening. So, if not a god... what?
The explosions grew louder, and now Jack could feel the heat given off by the a-light adjacent buildings. "Time to die," Jack said aloud. "Life, my god, you've been terrible to me. At least I wasn't a wuss and stuck it out 'til the end. Mind, I still don't know the point in all this, but I'm glad it's finally--" A bright flash cut Jack off mid-sentence. His head spun, and he fainted. For all Jack knew, he was dead.
"Jack? Jackie-boy? Can you hear me? Jack!"
Jack came to his senses, rubbing his aching head and examining himself. After noticing he was alive, Jack moved on to the stranger question, and that's finding out where he was. Jack was surrounded in a white mist, and couldn't even see the hand he stuck out in front of his face.
"Jackie! Perfect, you've come to. Can you hear me?" Jack nods. "Splendid. I suppose I should explain myself, eh? Jack, I'm your subconscious. I'm that little voice in your head that you've been repressing since you were fifteen. I was at one point your 'common sense', but apparently you decided you didn't need me. Look where that's gotten you!"
"Oh, shut the hell up!" replied Jack. "I don't need your condescending self to patronize me. Just go away!"
"Jack, I can't do that. You see, when that explosion happened, the nuclear radiation gave you certain powers. This is likely to come off as a very cliche comic book type thing, but the fate of the planet really is in your hands. Like, I don't really know how to explain it. I know you want to die, and you're [existential] nihilist (whether you admit it or not), and you have your 'there is no point to this' rants, but think about it: you can do anything you want now. Anything. So, wake up, no more booze, and save the planet. You're smart. You'll figure it out buddy."
Jack passed out again, but this time when he woke up, the world was different. Everything wasn't the dull gray washed out color Jack was used to seeing. Colors were vivid. People were full of life. The world seemed to smile with happiness, despite the devastating chaos that the outside exuded. It didn’t matter because Jack’s eyes now looked past all that. He scanned the area around him in awe at this new world that lay before him. He felt strong. He felt tough. He felt invincible. He truly believed that nothing could stop him. He took his first few steps, not tentatively, but boldly, for nothing could break his confidence now. Whether the voice who claimed to be his conscience was a dream or reality, he knew not, nor did he give it much thought. He heard nothing extra terrestrial now and did not care to ever hear it again.
The outside wall to his apartment had been partially blown away in the blast, causing an almost unnaturally bright sunlight to pour into the room once the cloud of smoke had settled down for the most part. He made his way over, squinting in the resplendent brilliance that he was nowhere near used to. He looked up at a gray sky turned blue where white clouds replaced the usual sooty black. He had no idea if this was a hallucination, a side effect of the explosion, or genuine tangible existence. Before he could care to further ponder his situation, he heard a cry that seemed more ear piercing than all of the continuing detonations combined. He looked down at the street where a young girl, not possibly older than seven years, was trapped, in some measure, under a large piece of the wall that had managed to find it’s way down to the street below. Jack was surprised to find that he could see every inch of her in detail, because prior to the incident, his vision was blurry because he lacked the glasses he was too lazy to obtain. He knew that if he took the time to climb down the lengthy set of stairs in his apartment building he might not make it to her in time. The outside was just as violent as ever and nothing was going to wait for him to take his time. Something in the back of his head told him to jump, which he initially thought was crazy, but he soon found himself toeing his way inch by inch until he fell right over the edge. Falling, he discovered, was the most wonderful feeling. It was usually ruined with the sinking feeling of eminent death once you’ve hit the ground, but Jack Durden was no longer afraid of smashing against the gorgeous earth. He landed lightly on his feet, inches away from the child, which he immediately started helping out from underneath the piece of solid concrete. He found he was able to lift it with a sort of ease that was almost completely unexplainable, his muscles protestation only a faint annoyance that seemed masked by a thick and heavy veil.
Once the child was loose, she looked up at him with large scared eyes, and the moment he made a movement of any sort she bolted as fast as she could in the opposite direction as he, proving she did indeed not have any broken bones that would hinder her from traveling. He knew he should go after her yet he felt he was certain she would be all right, and he took a strange comfort in that. On the other hand, threads of distress tugged at the back of his mind, folding themselves into the deepest recesses of his gray matter, weaving into knots in his stomach. He couldn’t quite place a finger on where it was coming from, but he was certain someone else was in trouble. And why not, in times like these? He mused silently. He finally got a lead on where the next victim was, which happened to be a teenage boy of sixteen or seventeen, impaled by a shard from a sheet of glass that had been blown into pieces by another offset explosion. He had carried the boy all the way to the hospital in record-breaking time, and was told by the doctors that because of his swiftness, the boy would probably live. Jack knew that he would, and took no discomfort in leaving the boy there. Helpless person after helpless person, Jack, although he had not been keeping count, knew that that day he had saved a total of sixty-seven lives. This feeling was almost better than falling he decided, and realized it was hard to imagine his life back when he loathed it. Maybe that was a time when he was a victim, he thought. Now it was a different story.
Jack made his way to the airport, discovering he could run at speeds at least ten times as fast as the greatest Olympic athlete. The airport seemed quiet compared to the rest of the planet. Apparently no one thought it was a good time to go on holiday? Jack wandered around until he found a (for the most part) vacant runway. Spotting a fighter jet, he climbed in, playing with the controls. "Damn! I have no idea how to work any of this!" Jack declared in fury. Frustrated, he pounded his fists on the pilot's display, needless to say, breaking it. Swearing again, making full use of his adult vocab. in the form of explicatives, Jack was aggravated at his obvious stupidity. He was stronger than he was before, and needed to realize it. Possibly the fastest jet in this entire air port was now broken- not that it really mattered because Jack honestly didn't know how to maneuver, yet alone turn on, any of these planes on in the first place. Something in the back of his mind (that annoying conscious again?) told Jack he could fly. When everything else seemed hopeless, why not try the improbable? Jack smashed the windshield of the plane, climbed through careful not to cut himself on shards of glass, and made his way to the top of the plane. Okay, now how should I do this? I suppose a Peterman approach might be best? Optimism. I'm down with that. Clearing his mind of all evil thoughts, Jack closed his eyes and took a leap in the air. After a few seconds of not hitting the ground, Jack began to open one eye and noticed he was floating. Cool. With both eyes open now, Jack experimented with his new ability, doing repetitive back flips in the air, and flying around a bit. After feeling confident about his new-found talent, Jack made his way, buzzing probably at near-light speed, to the UN headquarters. It took seconds.
Upon arriving, Jack banged on the door of the magnificent building, almost expecting an answer. Knocking proved a pointless task, Jack took a firm grip on the metal door with both hands, and ripped it out of its frame. Now the entrance was wide open, conveniently, and smirking to himself, Jack walked in. Able to hear voices from rooms away, Jack made his way toward them. This time too impolite to knock, Jack kicked down the door and a room full of men surveyed him.
"And you are...?" asked the man sitting at one of the ends of a long rectangular table, hand reaching for a gun.
"My identity is pointless. Who's in charge here?" Jack replied, disgusted by the organized party of seemingly smart men.
"What makes you think I'd answer to someone of your apparent social rank? Overweight, ripped jeans, unsightly t-shirt? I suggest you leave before I decide to make your death day a lot sooner than it could possibly be."
Jack stood there, staring at the man. "Do what you must, but I will not leave here alive if you do."
With that, the man rather nonchalantly shot Jack in the face. The bullet was stopped by his thicker-than-normal skull, and Jack, irritated and in horrible pain, walked over and punched the man square in the jaw. It was a bloody, ugly sight. Teeth had been knocked out and lay in pieces on the floor. The man's blood was leaking down his face, and because he lay fallen on the floor, his death can be concluded as 'drowning on his own blood'. Rather pleased with himself, Jack turned to the rest of the men. "Willing too cooperate?" The men refused, all but one charging at Jack. They fought well, but were, after all, only human. Jack eliminated them all, leaving no life for the men whose only wish to the planet was to destroy it. A few gun shots had been fired during the battle, all on Jack, but he lived, albeit being wounded severely.
The remaining man looked at Jack with dread in his eyes, not sure whether to run or stay. Jack advanced, and the man squirmed in his seat, with no exits to turn to. Apparently sympathetic to the man for not attacking him, rather than killing him on the spot, Jack stuck out a hand to negotiate. Grateful, the man accepted. The terms of the agreement were simple: The man was to stop the chaos (after all, the UN had all nuclear power) and tell Jack's story. Easy enough. Exhausted and still in pain, Jack flew back to Brooklyn.
"You know what’s so beautiful about life?” he asked to himself, voice hardly more than a whisper. “You only get one chance to live it… and most people don’t even realize what they have until it’s gone.” And with one last breath, Jack Durden showed the ultimate sign of his true mortality and died on the streets of Brooklyn. The usual sirens roared and children cried, but this was in celebration, rather than fear, for the nuclear holocaust had come to an end, and it was all because of one miraculous accident. Jack's name would be remembered forever, and his story with it. Though what will live on even longer is Jack's moral: Don't waste your life. You only have one, and not matter how terrible it may seem, you never know what turn of events could take you from a self-loathing low-life into something much more grand. Live well. Die well.
