N. White: The End - Visions of Apocalypse

May his words reach beyond the end of this world.

The writing forum at SFFWorld.com is a wonderful place. Like other online writing communities, members gather to share their work and for encouragement.

For the past four years, I have interacted with that virtual community, hoping to learn from writers like Elizabeth Moon, Jon Sprunk, Michael J. Sullivan, Hugh Howey, Kerry Tolan and many others that pop-in or frequent the forums. I’ve read hundreds of threads about developing character, world-building, and much more.

Those of us new to the craft of writing also get a chance to practice our skills on the forum. Each month, SFFWorld.com members take part in friendly, flash-fiction competitions. Over the years, some of the stories submitted have made me laugh, moved me to tears, or caused me to ponder an idea in a new light. I’ve learned a lot about writing fiction from reading those stories.

To show my appreciation for all I’ve learned, I wanted to do something enduring for the community. With all the recent talk regarding the Mayan prediction of the end of the world imminent at the 2012 Winter Solstice, I thought, “Better create that anthology we’ve been talking about before we lose the chance.”

And since we all love contests, why not choose the stories in our traditional democratic fashion?

Thus began “The End,” a collection of stories written and chosen by SFFWorld.com forum members. In addition to these science fiction and fantasy short stories, Michael J. Sullivan, Hugh Howey, and Tristis Ward each contributed a story for the anthology.

The topics explored herein range from the silly to the profound. Some will give you hope, others will make you pray for a different end, and one might even make you smile. I’m sure you’ll find at least one tale that will have you pondering possible events that could bring our precious world to an end. We’ve put together a fine and varied collection of stories about the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it just for you. Please, enjoy.

Before I leave you, one more quick note. SFFWorld.com supports an international community. Though many of the authors included are from the United States of America, we also have a few from the United Kingdom, Canada and Australia. British and U.S. spelling has been preserved (for the most part) in each story according to its author’s origin.

Hugh Howey is a self-published author. In 2011, his Wool series garnered national and international attention and has been optioned for a potential feature film by Ridley Scott and Steve Zaillian. When not writing, he likes to go for hikes with his family, take strolls on the beach, and read. Mr. Howey currently lives in Jupiter, Florida with his wife Amber and their dog Bella.

We are becoming wired in ways we don’t even realize. InExecutable, Mr. Howey explores what might happen when something sinister reveals our connections.

The council was quiet while they awaited his answer. All those on the makeshift benches behind him seemed to hold their breath. This is why they came here, to hear how it all began. How the end began. Jamal shifted nervously on the bamboo. He could feel his palms grow damp. It wasn’t the guilt of what his lab had released. It was how damn crazy it would all sound.

“It was the Roomba,” he said. “That was the first thing we noticed, the first hint that something wasn’t right.”

A flurry of whispers. It sounded like the waves nearby were growing closer.

“The Roomba,” one of the council members said, the man with no beard. He scratched his head in confusion.

The only woman on the council peered down at Jamal. She adjusted her glasses, which had been cobbled together from two or three different pairs. “Those are the little vacuum cleaners, right? The round ones?”

“Yeah,” Jamal said. “Steven, one of our project coordinators, brought it from home. He was sick of the cheese puff crumbs everywhere. We were a bunch of programmers, you know? A lot of cheese puffs and Mountain Dew. And Steven was a neat freak, so he brought this Roomba in. We thought it was a joke, but… the little guy did a damn good job. At least, until things went screwy.”

One of the council members made a series of notes. Jamal shifted his weight, his butt already going numb. The bamboo bench they’d wrangled together was nearly as uncomfortable as all the eyes of the courtroom drilling into the back of his skull.

“And then what?” the lead councilman asked. “What do you mean, screwy?”

Jamal shrugged. How to explain it to these people? And what did it matter? He fought the urge to turn and scan the crowd behind him. It’d been almost a year since the world went to shit. Almost a year, and yet it felt like a lifetime.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘screwy,’ Mr. Killabrew?”

Jamal reached for his water. He had to hold the glass in both hands, the links between his cuffs drooping. He hoped someone had the keys to the cuffs. He had wanted to ask that, to make sure when they snapped them on his wrists. Nowadays, everything was missing its accessories, it’s parts. It was like those collectible action figures that never had the blaster or the cape with them anymore.

“What was the Roomba doing, Mr. Killabrew?”

He took a sip and watched as all the particulate matter settled in the murky and unfiltered water. “The Roomba wanted out,” he said.

There were snickers from the galley behind him, which drew glares from the council. There were five of them up there on a raised dais, lording over everyone from a wide desk of rough-hewn planks. Of course, it was difficult to look magisterial when half of them hadn’t bathed in a week.

“The Roomba wanted out,” a councilwoman repeated. “Why? To clean?”

“No, no. It refused to clean. We didn’t notice at first, but the crumbs had been accumulating. And the little guy had stopped beeping to be emptied. It just sat by the door, waiting for us to come or go, then it would scoot forward like it was gonna make a break for it. But the thing was so slow. It was like a turtle trying to get to water, you know? When it got out, we would just pick it up and set it back inside. Hank did a hard reset a few times, which would get it back to normal for a little while, but eventually it would start planning its next escape.”

“Its escape,” someone said.

“And you think this was related to the virus.”

“Oh, I know it was. The Roomba had a wireless base station, but nobody thought of that. We had all these containment procedures for our work computers. Everything was on an intranet, no contact to the outside world, no laptops, no cell phones. There were all these government regulations.”

There was an awkward silence as all those gathered remembered with a mix of longing and regret the days of governments and their regulations.

“Our office was in the dark,” Jamal said. “Keep that in mind. We took every precaution possible—”

Half of a coconut was hurled from the gallery and sailed by Jamal, just missing him. He flinched and covered the back of his head. Homemade gavels were banged, a hammer with a broken handle, a stick with a rock tied on with twine. Someone was dragged from the tent screaming that the world had ended and that it was all his fault.