So I've had this idea that I wanted to write a Sci-fi type of story for awhile. I start to think of something, plan out my galaxies and other-world type sha-bang-ga-bang and than it fizzles. A great deal of it has to do with the fact that I can get obsessive when I research things and my tangential mind starts to wonder off into a variety of places and I forget what my origin of thought was. Yet, I've been circling the wagons of this Sci-fi concept for awhile and when I got a gentle nudge (I'm not being sarcastic, it was actually a flattering nudge) from Nicole Kurtz over at Mocha Memoirs Press to submit something I committed myself to focusing and getting it done.
But it seems my imagination went on hiatus. I couldn't finish my stories Tasty Bits or Fire and Ice for Beautiful Trouble Publishing and my poor little sci-fi story got neglected again. Even cycling into another round of insomnia couldn't be used for anything productive. I was at a great lose until I decided, "Fuck It", if my creative center didn't want to be found than it could stay lost. I had a plethora of things I could be doing instead. Now, what is that saying, when you let something go, if it comes backs it was yours or meant for you or...whatever, the point is where ever my imagination went it brought something back for me.
It's actually so strange that I couldn't help sharing. Now it may never become more than what it is but if it does, I swear Nicole, it's yours, if you want it of course (now that's my gentle nudge).
When the end came it wasn't a great shock. Like the slow rolling wave of change it seemed to envelop everyone before they'd realized they'd been swallowed. The cry "The End is Nigh" lost it's resonance when people accepted "The End" had always been there. It was of no fault of their own that they didn't notice. One has their life to live, planning for its conclusion can take up far too much time. Now as the masses finally awoke to the reality of their situation, was there panic, a post apocalyptic existence of hidden dwellings and the anarchist pledge? Hardly, it was rather anti-climatic, because like the great master of evolution the human race had become, it adapted. After all, life had to be lived, planning for its conclusion would have to wait.
But I digress from the real purpose of my tale. This isn't a story about "The End" but more of "The Beginning", not quite the "Once Upon A Time", but a "Happily Ever After" of sorts. This is the story of one man and one woman, brought together during this time of change that didn't seem so different. A comedy if there is an allowance for tragedy, because what would a story of the human condition be without both. The story of two people that realize endings are often the start of great beginnings.