How I Saved Humankind
Debra Kraft
How I Saved Humankind
Debra Kraft
Copyright 2012 Debra Kraft
How I Saved Humankind
by Debra Kraft
Of course you won't believe me. Why should you? Nobody does. Who am I to say I saved the world? I saved humankind? I'm nothing more than a blip in eternity, an infinitesimal little no one, a nothing. I work at a gray desk in a gray cubicle in a gray concrete building in a city full of gray concrete buildings filled with gray cubicles and gray desks. It's a pretty safe bet to say I will never occupy a corner office.
And yet, I did it. I saved humankind.
There's no denying it was Armageddon. I don’t bother to pay attention anymore, so I don't know what the scientists are saying about it today, how they're rationalizing stuff that simply can't be rationalized--not with physics, anyway. It wasn't a black hole or a wormhole or any other kind of hole. It was the Abyss. I know, because it almost had me.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the evening paper and wondering just how it is that politicians can be so slippery not even a 'caught in the act' video can stick them with the tiniest modicum of accountability, when I decided I needed something to drink. I guess I just needed to rinse out all that crap that got stuck in my mouth since there was no one around for me to blab it out to. I stood up, and before I even opened the bottle--hell, before I'd taken one step toward the counter, I got dizzy. It felt like the world was tilting beneath my feet.
Of course, that's exactly what it was doing. But it wasn't just tilting, it was being drawn into the Abyss. I'd never been in an earthquake, so, you know, maybe I might have thought that's what was happening, seeing as how I had nothing to compare the experience to. But I never did think that. I'm no expert, but I know enough to know during earthquakes the earth actually quakes. It moves. It shakes. It doesn't just tilt.
I ran to the front door. I must've looked like a drunken sailor the way I sort of zigged and zagged through all that tilting. But then I got there, and I yanked the door open...and the most amazing things were happening outside. Trees were leaning backwards--or, since I can't really say whether trees have fronts and backs, maybe it's better to say they were leaning towards the back of the house. Cars were sliding sideways. And the house across the street looked like it was reaching for me.
When I saw people running, I thought it was probably better to join them than not. So I started running too. I left the door wide open and sprinted down the street--or up the street; I'm not entirely sure which direction it was. All I know is we were running away from the pull. I don't think any of us knew exactly what it was we were running from, but we all pretty much knew we didn't want to know, and we sure as hell didn't want to let it come and grab us.
And that's when the big birds got there. They were flying over our heads, a whole flock of them so big and thick they blotted out the sun. At least, I’ve decided to think they were birds. Really big ones, some white, and others black. I heard someone shout something about mothmen. Someone else shouted out about angels. I’m not expert enough to say which of them was right. All I know is they were big, and they were flying over our heads, and the black ones scared the hell out of me so I thought it best to just try to ignore them.
Then there came a point when I just couldn't run anymore. That thing that was pulling at us, it started to grab my legs--okay, not in the literal sense. It didn't have hands or fingers or anything like that. I just couldn't step forward anymore, no matter how hard I tried. It was like this big, giant magnet was at my back and I was nothing more than a pile of steel. I finally decided to turn around to see just what the hell was sucking me in, and--damn. That's what it was. Hell.
People, dogs, cats, trees...everything was flying backwards, or flying back towards the back of where my house used to be. It was like someone turned a Texas-sized tornado sideways, and I was looking right into the tail.
I know I don't need to tell you I would have done anything to get away from there. And I suppose that's exactly why I went ahead and grabbed a hold of one of the legs of one of them big birds--one of the white ones, not the black ones. I don't mean any offense; it's just I really didn't like the looks of the big red eyes on those big black birds. But the white ones, now they just looked like big cuddly doves. And you've got to admit cuddly is better than demonic any day, right?
So I hitched a ride with a bird, and where did it take me? Honestly, I guess I can't say for sure exactly where it was, but I can tell you what it was. It was a courtroom--or at least it was a room where court was held. It was hard to see anything for sure, so I can't really describe the room to you. It's not that it was dark, exactly. It wasn't light either. It just...was. But I do know there was a judge up there. He was seated above me, high up, like on a throne on a dais. I can say that much because I reached out my hand and touched something that felt like warm marble in front of me, and his voice came down from a high spot right about there.
He asked me why. Why should he save humanity?
Imagine that. He wanted me--a nothing, a nobody who sits in a gray cube all day--to be humanity's lawyer. I would have laughed if I hadn't been so freaking scared. But damned if I didn't come up with an argument. A good one, too, or you wouldn't be talking to me right now--because, well, we'd all have been damned to Hell by now--or at least to the Abyss if I hadn’t won our case.
I started with art. My argument, I mean. I started by talking about art. Again, I'm no expert, but I've always liked paintings and stuff. I guess it goes along with spending all my days in all that gray. It's nice to get out to a museum once in a while and get sucked into all those colors. And I can sure as hell tell you it's a lot better than getting sucked into the Abyss. So anyway, I told him that humanity was worth saving because of all the beautiful works of art that would be eternally lost if we were. Eternally lost, that is. And then after art I got into music. It's a good thing I've downloaded all that Mozart and Beethoven into my portable player. You never know when a symphony might save your life.
And then, last of all, I talked about literature.
One time, years ago, for no particular reason, I decided to memorize one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I never considered it could actually come in handy some day, but it did. And then some. If I hadn't memorized that sonnet so well that it's still stuck in my head all these years later, then, well, you wouldn't be talking to me right now.
I didn't even think about what I was saying until I said it. I just recited that sonnet right there in that indescribable courtroom. And then those words just...well, they took on a whole new meaning.
"So long as men can breathe and eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee."
You see what I mean?
Don't you get it? Think about it. If humanity is lost, can gods exist? I mean any god, from the big G to the big A and any one in between.
You still don't get it? Okay, think about this. You know that whole 'if a tree falls in the forest' bit? If no one's there to hear it, can you still call what it makes a 'sound'?
I need you to forget about physics right now. Think about the hearing of sound, of how we define sound through the way we hear it. If we don't hear it, how can we say it's there? No, I'm not talking about vibrations. I'm serious when I tell you to stop thinking like that.
Okay, forget about the sound. That's not what won the argument anyway. What really won it was a mixture between the art and that Shakespeare sonnet. You see, all through the ages art has been a way to define or to put a face on God, or Allah, or whatever you want to call him or her or it or whatever. If suddenly the Earth was destroyed, if humanity was lost and all its artwork vanished, then there would be nothing left to define him. If there was nothing left to define him
, how could he exist?
And then I said it again, "So long as men can breathe and eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee."
And that's what did it. That's what won the case. That judge knew I was right. He knew he would cease to exist the minute all the rest of us ceased to exist.
You're still not buying it, I can tell. But that's okay. I know what I did. And I know what he did. He stopped all that pulling into the Abyss stuff. He had his cuddly dove take me back to Earth, and when it set me down I could tell nothing was tilting anymore. Things were a mess, sure. I mean, he didn't undo what was done. And my house was still gone. But he did stop the tilting. So we do still exist. And there's even enough of us still here to bump into an old friend once in a while, like you and I just did--what's it been, an hour ago now? Wow. Has it really been an hour already? Time really does fly, doesn't it? Even faster than those doves.
You know, I have to say of all the people I've ever known in my life, I sure as hell never expected to run into you again, not after that whole funeral and burial business. You remember what that car looked like after the crash? It didn't look like a car anymore, that's for sure. Sort of like everything else right now. Nothing looks like it did anymore.
Nothing except the art.
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About the Author:
Debra Kraft writes inspirational and speculative poetry in addition to fiction. She studied under Detroit poet M.L. Liebler as a merit scholar at Wayne State University.
Connect with me online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DebraKraft
My blog: https://dmkraft.blogspot.com/
