Pressed for Peace

The world of 2043 was fraught with violence and terrorism worldwide. By this era many peace-loving free countries on European, Asian and African continents had been overthrown by armed terrorist regimes headed by brutal dictators who would stop at nothing to achieve their goal of world conquest and domination over its vital energy resources desperately needed by free countries. Violence and senseless death ran rampant everywhere. As minions of terrified people tried too flee their war-torn countries. Some managed to escape -- while others were brutally slaughtered in the process by their captors. The world of 2043 was indeed a miserable, fearsome place with little hope of salvage.

But then sudden, mysterious events began to occur in the Fall of 2043 than had an enormous impact on the hopelessness felt worldwide.

It all began in October. As the blood-thirsty dictator of Iran threatened to overthrow Britain with a biowarfare attack unless the monarchy surrendered to his approaching armies, something inexplicable happened.

As nightfall fell over terrified Europe, dictator Muhummad Fafar advanced his armies to the border of England, leaving a trail of death and destruction in his path, he and his advancing army were suddenly stopped in their tracks. In the early morning predawn hours while the world waited for news coverage of England's fall and occupation, queer reports began filtering in that Farfar and his massive troop armada had completely vanished from sight. All of a sudden fighting had ceased, as though someone had thrown an off-switch. News reporters were dumbfounded. No one could explain the disappearance of Farfar's massive armies. Gunfire, explosions and the screams of death were gone -- replaced by silence of peace.

With the approach of dawn illuminating the landscape, British armies witnessed a shocking sight: the bodies of thousands of terrorist soldiers, along with their war machines had been crushed to the ground -- the remains literally flattened for miles around. Pools of their blood surrounded the squashed flesh and bones. Tanks and aircraft littered the landscape, completely flattened.

As the miraculous day wore on, investigators discovered curious circular lines imprinted on and surrounding the squashed remains in the earth -- stretching for miles in all directions. News media speculated that some sort of device had apparently flattened the armada, leaving a sort of mechanical stamp upon them in its crushing wake as the only explanation for the existence of the markings.

But Farfar's fearful, unexplainable demise was not enough to stop his remaining army and allies in terrorism around the world. As months passed, other dictators amassed armies to continue Farfar's plot of conquest.

In April of 2044, Mao Tse Ryouma, the dictator of a North Korean terrorist regime equipped with a huge atomic arsenal, ordered his armies to attack nearby China with nuclear bombs, when that country refused his demand to withdraw their troops from its borders and agree to occupation.

As Ryouma's fleet of aircraft carriers carrying nuclear bombs approached Shanghi on China's coast in the East China Sea, another incomprehensible event occurred.

In the wink of an eye, the entire fleet was wiped from the sea, including enemy aircraft and submarines. Witnesses to the event saw nothing but a vague shadow in an instant in time, nothing more. The entire fleet was wiped out in one millisecond in time it was later determined. Cameras were unable to record what had happened -- the result was nothing more than a blurry shadow. No one on Earth could explain or provide photographic evidence of what it was that destroyed the evil fleet of ships bearing in on the Chinese nation.

Flattened debris of the armada floated all over the China seas bearing the same curious circular impressions as those found on the remains of Farfar and his army. For months to follow the flattened debris of his vessels washed upon shores -- all bearing the mysterious markings -- but with something new added.

In their examination of the flattened sea debris, scientists discovered the curious line markings upon the metal appeared this time on both sides of the flattened remains, unlike those recovered from the Farfar incident which had been crushed into the ground on one side. The China Sea debris bore differences in the direction of the lines on the opposite side. Even more strange was the fact that the line markings on one side were an exact match to those found at Farfar, while the opposite side markings were completely different. It appeared that Ryouma's fleet had literally been pinched flat.

Although relieved of Ryouma's nuclear threat, the world began to believe the destruction of Ryouma and Farfar were miraculous acts of mercy by God. Churches worldwide began to fill with grateful denizens of Earth, offering prayers of thanks. Interest in religion had been restored and belief in a supreme being began to spread across the land. When found, many regarded the flattened debris as sacred and set them upon makeshift altars to worship. Others wore the scraps around their necks believing it would protect them from evil. A worldwide market for the debris had sprang up and people paid huge amounts of money to possess them.

In addition, the strange phenomena seemed to cause a decrease in crime in free countries. Experts believed a fear of the supernatural was the cause for the decrease in crime events, and were quite delighted. Signs of hope began emerging in society and many, for the first time in decades, foresaw a brighter future for mankind. Still, the world wondered what it was that destroyed the invading armies of Farfar and Ryouma. Newspapers, television and tabloids speculated daily. Everyone talked of it. Radio and TV pundits debated it. Everyone in the world was AWARE of it -- from they lowly, mud-hut dwelling savage to the rich and privileged of Western society. And not a single one could explain what had happened.

But the second unexplainable destruction of evil forces was not enough to dispel the agenda of terrorist dictators who remained at large in the world. In the months that followed, six remaining dictators grouped forming one superpower, which the media named Death Six. With forces joined, Death Six formed a massive air, land and sea army equipped with deadly arsenal and vowed a massive strike on the United States, a technically advanced superpower whom they believed was responsible for the mysterious phenomena that had destroyed their comrades.

Early one morning Death Six's forces invaded the shores of British Columbia, Canada, completely unannounced. The attack was similar to the sudden assault on Pearl Harbor a century before, surprising innocent citizens, local governments and military forces who were woefully unprepared. Death Six's massive air and land forces came from all directions across British Columbia, covering thousands of miles. Canadian military was taken completely by surprise and were no match for the invasion. Death Six advanced across the land toward the border of the United States, leaving death and destruction in its wake. Sleepy Canadian cities were destroyed, bridges blown up, airports bombed, trains derailed. The destructive forces of Death Six left nothing intact. Women and children ran screaming for cover. But there was no escape. Groups of cowering citizens were rocket bombed. Homes, including churches, were blown to bits by Death Six's low-flying aircraft overhead. It was hell on Earth. Doomsday had come.

Then the sky darkened. The sun was completely blocked out. It was as though an eclipse had occurred -- but everyone knew no eclipse was expected. As war-torn victims cowered in their hiding places they watched the sky in fear. The air became still -- no breeze was felt.

The commanders of Death Six and their men stopped in their tracks and looked to the sky as pitch black darkness surrounded them, preventing their advance.

Something was coming. Something big enough to block out the sun!

Freedom forces shined their spotlights into the pitch black sky to see it.

A giant thumb, miles in length and width burst through the clouds and began flattening Death Six's forces. For miles around witnesses saw the thumb press down on advancing armies and their tanks -- ceasing their evil activities instantly with its touch. None could escape. All that could be seen was the gigantic thumb coming down from the sky pressing flat all the groups of advancing forces everywhere, causing the ground to tremble in doing so. This time, however, the phenomena did not last but a millisecond as before, but rather several minutes. It was as though whatever it was wanted witnesses to see it -- to remember it. Cameras flashed capturing photos of the thing, bright spotlights illuminated it. Wherever Death Six was they were destroyed, crushed into the Earth as though they were ants.

After the invading forces had been wiped out, the giant thumb retreated back into the heavens and sunlight returned.

News media reported the giant thumb had pressed the cities, military bases and compounds of all terrorist rings worldwide that day in a matter of minutes. The world had been freed of tyranny, literally pressed for peace by the mysterious enigma from the heavens.

THE END.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
(c) 2009 by Link Digger. All rights reserved.

The Decaying Trees

"Why, mother, why must they die?" Little Gwendolyn cried as she embraced her mother's waist.

"All things must die in due time," Briana Stockridge said to her daughter. "Now, there, there. Go sit by the window while I finish making your lunch, child," she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

12-year-old Gwendolyn did as she was told, climbing up on the bench before the picture window of the yard. Through her tear-strewn eyes she stared at the three young, dying trees her father had planted just for her several months back. Curiously, all the other trees she saw around were lush green.

"But mama, the other trees look so robust and healthy. Why are daddy's trees the only ones sick?" She asked.

Mrs. Stockridge gave a worried frown at the window. Indeed, her inquisitive daughter was right. Only the three trees that her missing husband Jerome had planted were affected by some sort of tree blight.

"Why, that's odd." She mused placing the child's bowl of gruel on the kitchen table. She stared out the window at the yellowed, dying trees. "Now you never mind and eat your gruel, Gwen, before it gets cold."

Gwendolyn curled her lip at the slimy sludge her mother had given her for lunch. "Why can't I have a country steak or some of that lasagna leftover from dinner last night, mama?" The child complained in disgust. She stomped her feet on the floor and folded her arms in rebellion.

Mrs. Stockridge knew the child was going to throw another of her famous, routine tantrums to get what she wanted. But this time she was having nothing of it. "You can't have steak or lasagna! I've eaten it all. It was for ME, not you!" The child's mother spat, pointing the tip of her finger hard on the child's breast. "Now you'd BETTER eat every drop of that, or you'll go hungry for dinner tonight!" She threatened.

The child jumped up from her chair and stomped. "I HATE YOU! You ARE a bitch, just like daddy always used to call you!"

Mrs. Stockridge clenched her fists, trying very hard to control her anger, which she worried would get out of control and cause her to do something terrible in response. She took a deep breath and with her eyes narrowed into slits she hissed at the child: "Now you listen to ME, missy. Don't you EVER call me that word again. I had enough of it from your father. I couldn't take hearing it anymore. And I won't take it from you! No you eat your food or I'll take the switch to you!"

Little Gwendolyn backed away from her mother. "Well I'm not going to eat it and you can't make me! I'll tell daddy on you..." The child stopped mid-sentence, knowing her father would not be there to defend her this time.

Mrs. Stockridge smiled like a shark. "That's right, darlin', your daddy can't help you this time, can he? You will never get your way again!"

Little Gwendolyn gave her mother a terrified look. "What did she mean by NEVER get my way again?" She thought to herself. It seemed her mother was convinced her father would never return again. Why? She watched a fly land on her bowl of lukewarm gruel.

Mrs. Stockridge laughed. "See? You have no choice. You must eat your lunch and do what I say. I'm the boss now!"

SEVERAL DAYS PASSED. There was a knock on the door.

Mrs. Stockridge opened the door to greet the kind face of a slightly overweight policewoman of about 25, with her hair completely shaved off. If one didn't know any better, she would have easily been mistaken for a man.

"Mrs. Briana Stockridge?" The policewoman asked.

"Yes." Replied Mrs. Stockridge.

"I'm afraid we haven't had any news of your missing husband, Jerome. He seems to have vanished without a trace," explained the policewoman.

"Oh this is terrible," Mrs. Stockridge wept to the officer. "Oh, what has happened to my wonderful husband?"

Little Gwendolyn eavesdropped on the conversation from around the corner of a wall nearby. Why is mother crying? She wondered, after all the terrible things she said about her father to her since he'd been missing. She was acting very wrong to the officer, she decided with suspicion.

"Keep in touch with headquarters, Ma'am, I'm sure he'll turn up eventually," encouraged the policewoman.

"Yes, yes, I hope so," Mrs. Stockridge replied, wiping the tears from her eyes with her apron.

Mrs. Stockridge stood in the doorway watching the officer's police car disappear down the road. When it had disappeared into the distance she turned around and with a sigh of relief she smiled in satisfaction.

"You seem pleased about the news!" Little Gwendolyn shouted at her mother, stepping out of her hiding place.

Mrs. Stockridge's smile turned to a hideous sneer at her daughter's sudden presence. "How DARE you eavesdrop on me! Go to your room!" She ordered, clapping her hands.

LATER THAT EVENING...

Little Gwendolyn watched her mother sharpen a meat cleaver and then chop meat on the kitchen counter.

CHOP-CHOP-CHOP, over and over again, went through the child's ears. The sound was aggravating her as she sat and stared at her father's decaying trees in the backyard through the picture window. The chopping sound grew louder and louder in her mind. She clenched her fists. She began to fidget in her chair. She felt like she was going to scream if her mother didn't stop chopping.

"Why can't we give daddy's trees plant food to save them?" The little girl belted out suddenly, inspired by an idea.

The child's sudden remark distracted Mrs. Stockridge, causing her to clip a bit of skin off a finger as he chopped. "Damn you, girl, don't distract me like that! I almost chopped off my finger!" She shouted.

Her mother's wound didn't affect the child's thoughts. All she could think of was what to do about her father's decaying trees in the backyard.

"I said, why can't we give daddy's trees some plant food!" The child snapped, unconcerned for her mother's pain.

Mrs. Stockridge sucked the blood off her index finger. "We don't have any fertilizer to give them. Now be quiet!"

CHOP-CHOP-CHOP

Mrs. Stockridge resumed chopping the meat, despite her bloody finger.

"We'll I'm going to get them some fertilizer!" Snapped Little Gwendolyn, her eyes transfixed on the decaying trees.

"You do that," Mrs. Stockridge responded as she chopped, deciding to ignore her irritating daughter.

A WEEK LATER...

"Little girl, little girl?" Asked the policewoman, tapping the child on her shoulder to stir her from her thoughts. The officer had found the child sitting on a picnic blanket in the backyard of the Stockridge residence. The child seemed preoccupied, her glassy eyes staring intensely at the trees around her. She acted as though she was completely unaware of the officer's presence.

"Is your mother home?" The policewoman asked the child.

With a look of irritation, Little Gwendolyn removed her eyes from her intense stare at the three trees surrounding her.

"NO, that BITCH is not home!" Snapped little Gwendolyn angrily. Her face seemed twisted and filled with rage at the mere mention of her mother.

The policewoman was taken aback by the child's foul language and evil demeanor. The officer glanced at the three trees the child had resumed staring intensely at and wondered what was so important about them.

"They're beautiful trees," the policewoman commented in an attempt to capture the little's girl's attention on a common subject.

Suddenly, Little Gwendolyn's demeanor changed. "Why yes -- yes they are. My daddy planted them just for me," she said sweetly. "Look how green they are now!" She jumped up from her picnic blanket and clutched a leaf. "Look how green and shiny the leaves are now that they've been fed!"

The policewoman stood silent observing the child's sudden personality change with curiosity.

"I saved these trees with fertilizer!" Little Gwendolyn stated proudly, crossing her her arms. "I brought them back to life -- and it only took one single week to do so."

The policewoman glanced at her wristwatch. Time was passing and she had other calls. "Little girl, could you tell me where your mother is?"

Little Gwendolyn continued gaping at her father's beautiful trees in awe. "Mama IS here. In fact, she helped me save daddy's trees!" The child shouted with glee.

With that, the little girl smiled broadly and handed a large picnic basket to the policewoman.

"Chopped meat is absolutely the BEST fertilizer in the world for trees," said Little Gwendolyn proudly.

The police woman opened the picnic basket and pulled out a human skull that had been picked clean of flesh. Alongside the skull was a meat cleaver with dried blood on it.

"Yes, mama was of great help saving daddy's sick trees, don't you think?" Little Gwendolyn asked the officer with a glance of satisfaction at her trees. "And I have plenty more of her fertilizer where that came from."

THE END.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
(c) 2009 by Link Digger. All rights reserved.