The Great Atomic War Chronicles: V. De la Roche

The year is 2030.

Vay De la Roche, a young French woman is standing in a lavender field. The sky is a feel good blue, the sun gently warms her pale skin, while the calm breeze soothes her porcelain face. She’s carrying her baby girl, Lila, who’s about 3. Lila’s violet eyes are mesmerizing, and the purple plain of sweet scent compliments them well.

Nature performs her music. A Spotted Eagle plays cat and mouse with a yellowish red bird. It’s significantly smaller than the preying eagle, but the bird has the gift of evasion. Vay watches them in amazement.

Meanwhile, a baton blue butterfly lands on Lila’s chunky little arm. She gazes at it. It’s the same color of her eyes, only brighter with a fading white touch to its black and orange spotted wings. There’s an odd sense of connection between them.

The eagle and his toy are out of eye’s sight.

Vay checks in on her daughter, to catch her subtle interaction with the butterfly. Lila is calm, too calm, strangely calm. Then suddenly, she tries to swat it, but misses, and giggles — hysterically. As the butterfly takes off, nature isn’t singing anymore.

An array of U.S. military planes fly over them.

“That’s odd,” Vay thought.

Shortly after the planes fly into the distance, a flock of birds, led by the eagle and his formal enemy, fly in the direction the planes came from.

“This is it,” thought Vay.

She runs across the massive lavender field toward her house. Posted on the fence, there is a French flag. She rushes into her modern quant home, wraps Lila in a blanket, and slips a note and a small red chip in there. The ground shakes, Vay stumbles onto the wooden floor, causing Lila to laugh.

Every glass in the house shatters. Lila’s laughter turn into tears of pain. Vay tries to comfort her, but time is slipping. She lifts up a square lid to a hole underneath the the floor. It’s made of some sort of special metal with air ventilation, food, and water. She gently places Lila in the pod. From her heart’s bossom, she pulls out a retro polaroid photo of the family. In it, there’s a pregnant Vay, a tall slim man, and a little boy with a mask on. She puts it next to Lila, gives her one last kiss goodbye, and seals her inside.

Outside, another shockwave approaches. Vay steps out onto the porch. She’s in awe of what man has done. In the distance, there are not one, but several mushroom clouds. They touch the heavens, covering the sun. Vay breathes her last breath before Earth becomes hell. When the mass of debris arrives, it gathers the lavender. This sweeping cloud of mass destruction now has the face of a healer.

Vay takes her final breath, filled with the smell of lavender. Her death, a graceful one, leads to the year 101 — After the Great Atomic War

101 A.G.A.W.

Valentin De la Roche wakes up in a cold sweat. His violet eyes glimmer off of some purple sex lights. He reaches over into his nightstand with his lanky long arms. Underneath all of his sex toys, lube, and condoms, he pulls out a polaroid. It’s the image that Vay tucked into her daughter’s blanket. Mamé is written on that unnecessary white space underneath the image. He tosses the polaroid back into the drawer, and grabs a blank screen digital picture frame. A sensor detects his eyes. An image of him shirtless kissing on a rad hippy woman pops up first. His left nipple is pierced. “Gay AF” is tattooed across his non-existent chest. In the blink of an eye, the image changes. Still shirtless, Valentin has on a white coat that reads — “V. De la Roche, MD” Opposite of that is an updated version of his “Gay AF” tattoo that says “Was Gay AF, Now I’m Just A Freak…” Pail white skin is the color of his flesh. Jagged silver and gold nail polish embolden his style. Standing next to him is a woman in her golden years. She’s half his height, but her short haircut and chiseled cheek bones match his. They both have violet eyes, her’s more dark, more soul revealing.

The screen changes without an eye blink. It’s the same woman, a bit more grey, and less gracious. Still, her eyes are piercing, but more prominent than ever. Valentin chuckles.

“Bonjour, mommy dearest,” said Valentin.

“You need to leave Anwar City, now,” she demanded.

Over by the door are some bedazzled packed bags.

“I’m leaving within the hour, mother,” he said.

“Where are you going,” his mother asked.

“No where far, but far enough,” he answered.

“What will you become?” she asked.

“A butler to a young wealthy Russian man,” he replied.

“Promise me, you won’t kill again,” she begged of him.

“Oh, mommy dearest. I promise I won’t kill again. But, the man I’m going to work for will be so caught up in pussy, he won’t notice my experiments,” he said.

She looks deep into his eyes. “Behave yourself. Je t’aime, mon phenomène de foire,” she said.

Valentin looks away, a little teary eyed.

“Au revoir, my Lila,” he replied.

The screen goes black.

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