The Ironist, "Smoke"

I suppose you want the whole story, right? A clean-cut beginning, middle, and end? A story, where the bad guys are bad and the good guys are good? A story where truthfulness and compassion win out over avarice and hatred? Do not expect much of that here. Evil owns all. Chaos reigns. End of story, goodnight.

It's true that without evil there can be no good. But what they don't tell you is that you don't need any good for evil to exist. Evil is fundamental in the core of man. Men are brought into this world kicking and screaming and that's the same way they go out. 

The best place to begin this story, aside from "In the beginning", would be on a Saturday, in a regular city, a little past lunchtime.

A loud explosion could be heard echoing down the streets and alleyways. For a time everyone sat in silence not sure why the ground shook, or why all the pigeons, rats, and any other city dwelling animals began to frantically fly, scurry, slither, or crawl out of their homes and into the streets. For a time all was silent. Then the screaming began. From the 'Cafe Diem' on Main Street, a quaint little coffee shop with the best croissants around, patrons could witness a flood of people surging down the street. Some missing limbs, some blinded from debris or blood in their eyes, one lady still clutching the severed arm of her child as she sprinted for safety, all screaming not one daring to look back.

Behind them a huge plume of white smoke and ash barreled down upon them, like a fat kid at a buffet, gobbling them all up. The slow were the first to go. Inside the cloud was total confusion. The cacophony of horror echoed off of the surrounding buildings and bounced back creating a terrible soundscape of suffering. A heroic few tried to help out amidst the clouds of confusion, to possibly help out some of the people lost in the dense haze of death. You know how they say not to swim towards a drowning person? Those gallant few who plunged into the maw to aid the injured got it the worst. The victims inside had become feral amongst the suffering. When given aid they lashed at their would be saviors and set upon them like rabid dogs hungry for a meal. Not one of the brave souls who set out to help was ever seen again... Unless you count the parts they didn't like.

Onlookers began to be puzzled by the smoke. It remained thick in the air advancing slower and slower but never stopping or dissipating. The screams of the fallen still issued out from the fog but were less frequent as the numbers of the suffering converted into the numbers of the dead. Still the cloud advanced through the city. Then a melody began to play from deep within. It was long and purposeful, remorseful and filled with the fondest memories that you have long since forgotten. As the tune grew in intensity the screams fell completely silent, as did the rest of the city. Everyone seemed to freeze to the spot as the tune brought about the most bittersweet memories in an instant. Slowly, the city began to lean into the song; Slowly, the first footsteps fell; Slowly the population began to advance into the smoke.