Blood and Glass

Submission for IronAge Media's prompt "The Celestial"

The end had come for those on this forsaken planet, none would or could deny that. For many decades had debauched folk escaped justice and death. They would escape death no more.

Laura had long since given herself to the many vices this city could give—always telling herself there would be a tomorrow to change when the thought occasionally entered her head. Even now, she didn’t want to leave the hidden and not so hidden dens of gambling, drinking, murder, and worse. The world might last one more day yet. Besides, what was there to life but pleasure, comfort and anything to stave off the encroaching boredom.

The vortex had appeared three days ago, and those who had studied it noted with a pleasant horror and grim fascination that the energy contained therein was steadily rising, and within the week, if not half that time, the planet would be torn apart. It was red, large, and hung over the most densely populated place on this refuse pit of a world.

Many of it’s denizens were attempting to escape, but where would they go? Laura didn’t know if they could make it to any of the colonies in time. But why would she want to, or they for that matter? She wouldn’t be able to get all the drink, blood, and gambling this world so easily provided.

She wandered through the streets, but none of the near-by vices interested her much at the moment. Nothing held that interest—that excitement—that something new invariably had. She had gone to ever more extremes get her excitement. Taking a sip from the flask at her hip, she lamented the fact the remaining amber liquid was not enough to forget her boredom.

Her money had been lost while gambling the day before so she could not buy any more. She had had some lucrative wins, yes, but had lost everything in one spectacular loss. And really, that was the point to it, or at least the reason Laura gambled. The feeling of putting all you had on a slim chance, the feeling of winning that chance, or even losing. She almost liked losing more than winning.

She was not a good person. She readily accepted it and she didn’t much care. She liked throwing her life away. But, even if there was something after death, something that made something else more worthwhile, that was something Laura could never hope for with her life thus lived.

She had never killed anyone, though. That might give her a chance. Or maybe, that would give her the high she wanted. She quickly pushed the idea away as distasteful. Plus, even though most things were legal here, including slavery and gladiator fights, murder would likely put her in jail. Course, she laughed dryly, with her world about to end, she wouldn’t be caught before she flickered out of existence.

It crossed her mind again. What if there was something more—something else—to life? She entertained the thought more than normal. Usually she pushed the it away, but this time she let it sit there. There wouldn’t be time to think about it later anyways. If there was, with the life of vice she had lived, could she ever hope to arrive at an afterlife? Was it too late to change? Had she ever done anything worth anything? She couldn’t remember one thing. That was depressing. And yet, she felt a desperation, and, for some strange reason, hope that she couldn’t explain.

One of the gladiator pits was to her right. She could bet on slaves there. Watching them brutally kill each other was a pastime she had gleefully indulged in before. She walked through the door, and ruefully realized she couldn’t bet. Ah well. But watching them destroy each other apart might still be fun.

She was in luck. Three small and lightly armored figures, whether men or women was hard to tell at this distence, were each holding a mere twig of a weapon compared the the giant club held by the giant of a man they circled. These were her favorite fights, when one strong individual would be pitted against one or more who stood no chance, and only done to sate the bloodlust of the onlookers. Indeed, it promised to be a gruesome fight, but Laura was less than interested as the first of the three figures, a small man, fell amid thunderous applause. The other two tried their best, managing to bloody the large man. But in their desperate attempt, the club caught one of them anticlimactically. The crowd booed, and Laura got up, feeling like she was about to be sick.

She felt sorry for them, an emotion she had never before felt. For the most part, they were slaves, or criminals. But many them had racked up enormous debts and were sold to the gladiator pits. It wasn’t their circumstances that made Laura feel bad for them, but their hopelessness. In these fights, they could not hope to win, only to die in a horrific way for the crowd. And the horrible deaths they endured, which before had excited Laura, now made her feel ill to her stomach, as if she realized just what was going on. Throwing up and not even bothering to clean up after herself, she left, wishing for the first and not last time that the gladiator pits didn’t exist.

She wanted to drown herself in some activity or other, but she did not have the money nor the appetite for anything after what she had just witnessed. She walked for hours until she came to the edge of the city and the beginning of the wasteland that stretched on for miles as far as the eye could see, like some great blanket of ash. In their desire and search for pleasure and entertainment, the population of this despicable planet had, for decades, destroyed all that was truly beautiful, but none felt any remorse, and most now didn’t know anything else, while the rest would take the vices the cities offered over anything from nature’s bounty, Laura included. But she would like to have seen a tree or something just once.

Could she change? How did she go about doing it? “Besides,” she said draining the last few sips of whisky in one go, “wouldn’t it be out of fear of what else there would be.” She paused, thinking harder. “No, it would be because I didn’t have any of my vices to turn to instead.” She laughed. That would certainly qualify her for any sort of a pleasant afterlife.

A old man appeared, one of the worst people around, and threw a sack at her. “I’m done with this garbage,” he said in a thin voice. She looked inside. “Booze and whatnot. I know you like that stuff, Laura, and besides I shan’t need it. I’m turning over a new leaf. It ain’t much, but maybe it’ll count for something. You enjoy those now.”

The old man left without a further word—she didn’t remember his name—and Laura watched him go, new thoughts and emotions swirling around inside her. She gazed at the rancid water as she took a bottle out of the bag. She uncorked it, taking a long drought. She looked at the contents of the bag and considered them a second, then threw the whole thing into the water. With what had already been done, she doubted it could hurt the water any worse.

She lifted the bottle to take another sip, but paused halfway to her lips. What if the old man hadn’t been wrong? What if there was still time? Well, there would be time to decide tomorrow, if that ever came. She hugged her knees, resting her chin on them. It was all so heavy. Drinking deeply, she began to give it as much thought as she could.

In a moment of could be considered reckless action, Laura smashed the bottle against the rocks, shattering bottle and slicing her hand. Wondering if she had made the wrong decision, she watched as her blood dripped from her hand, mixing with the shards of glass and puddles of whiskey and sour water on the rocks under her. Seconds later the vortex imploded, and Laura watched with a strange sense of detachment, as if it were happening to someone else.

The End,
God bless