Chapter Three : The Tall Tale Of A Taller Man	Archive
It all started as a scam. She'd be the first to tell you that, her infectious smile dimming the blow to your ego, the ever-present cigarette perched between the lips that led to your inevitable downfall. She'd tell you that you weren't the first and, for once, she'd be telling you the truth. Another name on a list too long to recant, a thousand broken fools paying the price for a libido run riot. It was a two way deal and in the end you got exactly what you were looking for, maybe it cost you a little more than you were willing to pay but you've no-one to blame but yourself for getting involved before checking the odds out first. That libido again, proof positive that God is a woman, and that she has one hell of a sense of humour. Do you remember the first time you did weed together ? You were terrified, all cheap business suit and responsibility. The alien nature of the club forced you to relinquish your precious grasp of control – the music rolled over you but the pumping bass distorted your sense of balance - you actually had to fight to keep your footing. She laughed at you for that, afterwards, when they were alone together. And then there was your wife, a strange creature, seemingly dedicated to keeping you so bloody happy. Twelve years and not a single argument - your every whim acquiesced too without even the smallest of complaints. Even now you still have the gall to lay some of the blame at her door, don't you ? After all, wasn't it her dumb obedience that led to the onset of that mind numbing boredom ? The road from there to her is an easy one to trace - a few drinks after work with some well meaning colleagues who had noticed the downturn in your mood, three too many and a stumbling entourage convince themselves that they're still young enough to sample the city's night life. Not you though, you were drained and more than a little drunk but the promise of returning home to that damned asylum was more than enough to make you follow suit. The doormen sneered as you trooped past, recognising your group for what it was, a rag tag group of middle aged geeks who were well past their sell by date. They charged forty a head and you forked up, so out of touch with "the scene" that you never thought to question such a ludicrous cover charge. That was only the start you made easy marks and everyone from the cloakroom attendants to the bar staff overcharged you. Openly grinning as you paid double the odds for a drink and followed false instructions to what you referred to as "the gents", ending up in the back alley outside the club instead. Which was how you met her, and now you wonder if that was all part of the set up, did she lie in wait there - knowing that her friends at the bar would send along another idiot ripe for the picking before the night was through. Such paranoia would have served you well in those early days but you were a different beast then, driven to the brink of sanity by a home life that was slowly falling apart for want of some simple communication between two people who claimed to love each other. Not that your job was fairing much better, the strain of maintaining the plant was taking its toll on your nerves, understandable really, the smallest of mistakes could result in the deaths of so many innocents. And it did, didn't it ? One moments lack of concentration and everything went straight to hell - a failsafe ignored and a cascading series of failed countermeasures culminating in the day that changed everything forever. But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we Peter ? We were reminiscing on your first fateful meeting with the woman of your dreams, weren't we ? You don't have much to say these days, not like the old you at all, before the job and the trap that was your marriage. Another dumb rebel with an answer to all the world's ills and a desire to share them with anyone who happened to find themselves within shouting distance. Time changed you, it changes everyone and despite your overly high opinion of yourself you're no different to the rest of the herd. Your edge was dimmed and, back then, when you refused to make the leap from booze hound to dope fiend you lost it all and spiraled head first into the pit of tedium fondly referred to by some as maturity. And so on and so forth, sobering up and innumerable college years spent studying and contributing to society as you found something which you excelled at. Nuclear physics, Jesus but you fell hard, didn't you ? A complete turn about face as you betrayed the very things which made up your first twenty years on this planet. And it was an easy thing to do, to shitcan your beliefs and whore yourself to that which you spent so long mocking, the inevitability of your actions somehow making it all the easier to swallow. Inevitable, that was your argument, everyone has to grow up eventually and sometimes the path of least resistance is the right way to go. Did you know that some of the others stayed true to the ideas that you bestowed upon them ? The very ones you suspected of being in it for the thrill of the ride turned out to be the real believers, people dedicated to fighting for a better society as opposed to clawing their way to the top of the shitpile like you and your ilk. They're dead now, of course. Sara and Brian were, and the irony here should bring a smile to your lips, replanting saplings in the Amazon when Mother Nature finally rebelled - a million great oak trees shredding their bodies and leaving literally nothing of them behind. Alex, Alex was the great success story. Formed his own eco-friendly company and he was actually winning his own private little war - buying up vast amounts of forestry and ensuring it's continued existence by ploughing millions into it's development. He was flying to address what was left of the EU on his proposals for future economic policy when the skies where torn apart by sheet lightning - his plane was struck and turned into a flaming hot fireball. It crashed into lush forestry below - burning hundreds of acres to dust before the heavy rains quenched the flames. So many others - Ciaran, Patricia, Enda, Philip - all continued to do their bit as you turned your back on the planet and went to work on the very thing which will lead to her eventual destruction. Or salvation, though you shouldn't allow yourself any smug satisfaction at this, you had no idea that mankind's vile creation would be its eventual saviour. Because Mother Nature, through no fault of her own, has now become the enemy and something of the old you has found it's way to the surface. The drugs and the scotch have reawakened the old bastard and he knows how to deal with the enemy - face it down and beat it like a dog, no trick too dirty and victory the only thing worth aspiring too. Maybe that's what she saw in you, as you stumbled into that damned alley, did she catch a glimpse of that fire buried deep inside you ? Wishful thinking, she saw you for a fool and played you as such. She was in her element and it was the confidence of her actions moreso than her physical beauty which caught your eye. You could always appreciate professionalism, no matter what form it took you always had time to admire those who knew exactly what they where doing. Bullshit. Your inability to admit the truth, even to yourself, is the one facet of your old persona that has remained intact throughout the years. Face to face with your own failings and you still persist in hiding behind the thin veil of lies that serves as the crumbling barrier between you and utter insanity. It was the practically non-existent skirt, the thousand mile high legs and seductive smile that cut through your drink addled brain and caught your attention. Base instincts took over and just like that, you fell. It was just what you were looking for - a vital spark of excitement to offset the growing tedium of your real life. Excuses where easy, late nights put down to an increased workload and weekends away together marked as training seminars. Did your wife suspect ? Maybe but she never said anything - you became a changed man, reinvigorated you became the literal life and soul of the party. With some unseen burden lifted you managed to excel in your workplace, no longer driven by fear but by professional pride and a fresh desire for life. She led you through every excess known to man but always tempered it with a modicum of good sense - teaching you the vital rules that ensured an avoidance of burn out. Know your dealer. Know your limits. Moderation is the key and the moment you forget that is the moment you've doomed yourself to a life of diseased needles and nights in filthy burnt out flats, surrounded by the worst scum of the planet. And then she left, cleaning out your bank account and sending that video to your wife. The wife took it well, too well, and you where angered at her refusal to confront you. She said she'd stand by you for the sake of the children when you wanted her to tear your eyes out and leave you crying bloody tears. The return to the incessant grind was a hard thing for you to face. Too hard and it wasn't long before the same old pressures returned to gnaw away at your already paper thin resolve. Moderation was no longer an option, her dealer more than willing to supply you with whatever you needed to face the disaster that your life had become. Weed was never going to be enough and speed simply wasn't the right kind of drug. Heroin filled the gap for a while, a long while, once vital veins drying up and your features taking on the gaunt appearance of a user turned abuser. But the human body is a strange thing, punish it enough and it either starts to grow immune or die. Eventually heroin wasn't doing what you required of it so you made the next step - crack cocaine. Two simple words and a shit storm of chaotic weirdness that chewed you up and spat you out. Your first trip left you screaming for hours straight, it took two days for the shakes to wear off and you were hooked. When your wife caught you injecting into your tear duct, she finally lost her resolve. It was the one and only time you witnessed her giving in to her emotions, she literally threw you out of your house, bombarding you with your possessions as you stumbled high out onto the street. Two days later she filed for divorce and you no longer had to worry about the tedium of family life. Which meant you had nothing to do all day but work nine to five and then shoot up on anything you could afford. Living in a squat, strung out on a thousand different drugs you were in no fit state to monitor equipment in a nuclear reactor but no one noticed till it was far too late. Too late for seventy nine people who found themselves exposed to lethal levels of radiation by a colleague high on a cocktail of crack and scotch. Do you remember the tape ? It shows you laughing like a bastard madman as they screamed for help. But you watched it every night for nearly a year, of course you remember it. And now the fall has come, the planet itself has rejected your race and opted to start over in favour of dying at your hands. A simple thing now, you or her and once again you have meaning in your life. You must return to that place where your insanity led to so much pointless death, you must return and unleash those foul chemicals into the air. There will be loss, huge loss, countless humans will die because of this but it must be done. This is the only way to offset the spreading rebirth of the planet, you understand this Peter, don't you ? Peter woke coughing, a horrible black substance catching deep in his throat, forcing him to physically clear it with his fingers. He cleaned his hand on his trouser leg as he opened the last of his scotch, taking a long swig from the bottle before breaking down into another fit of violent coughing. Gun was still standing motionless in the open doorway of the bus station, that lethal pistol gripped in his left hand. Turning away from his silent bodyguard, Peter saw that Katrina was still unconscious, which didn't really surprise him. She'd flown into a rage when Gun shot the man she was tending and Peter was forced to subdue her with the aid of a heavy branch. Dried blood caked the side of her head but she was still breathing, Peter knew that she was one of the chosen and as such he was required to ensure her continued survival. The voices had spoken to him again as he slept, confirming what he already knew, that he would be required to make a terrible sacrifice to safe his race.
Written By : John McMahon	Archive