Delving Into the Past: Pestilence.06.01.2006.

      Six weeks ago, I became extremely ill. Actually, I'm addicted to cocaine, but once I went into rehab, something changed. Nobody seemed to recognize me. I'm the Vice President, for Christ's sake. After I checked in, people around me changed too. The treatments for the patients became less effective. One of the doctors was arrested for possession two weeks after I came in.
      Somehow I know it's me that's affecting these people. This is my last day in the clinic. I pack my things and let myself out. The nurse at the desk looks tired. She started shooting heroin a couple of days after I showed up. As I walk out, I see one of the orderlies lying beside the door. He's drunk again. He's been drunk for three days straight.
      I turn my cell phone on for the first time in seven weeks. It beeps fifty or sixty times; twice for every voice mail I've received. I don't bother listening to any of them, they'll all be the same. As I'm tapping the screen to erase them all, I pass a store with some televisions turned to the news. They're showing some footage of an island, and a ball of light shoots from what looks like a military base, then static. Back to you, Phil.
      "What the hell is Atlantis, anyway?" I ask myself as I give a dealer some cash for an eightball. I find a rather secluded alley and throw my crap next to a dumpster. I'd stolen a spoon and syringe on my way out of the clinic, so I fish them out of my bag and begin to melt the drug into sweet nectar.
      Just as I'm about to fill the syringe, the ground beneath me ripples as though it's turned to liquid. The fluid in my spoon spills onto my bare arm. That hurts. I jump to my feet and curse, but the ground continues to shake and I fall on my ass. The buildings around me begin to fall apart. I crawl out of the alley to keep from being killed, but it doesn't help much.
      As the street comes into view, I realize what's going on. The road looks like a wave on the ocean, and buildings are being torn apart. I try to stay close to a wall, but I'm thrown into the air and land flat on my back. That hurts too. From this position, I see the sky for the first time. It's on fire.
      The earthquake ends, and I get back on my feet. The entire street has been destroyed. Jets of water shoot from the cracks of the broken pavement. Vehicles have been tossed around like toys, explosions or just their sheer weight destroying property in their wakes. It figures that Armageddon would start in the City of Angels.
      I limp back to my bag in the alley, which is now covered with dust and concrete, and look to see if my phone is alright. Still intact. And oh, its vibrating. Bruce is calling me. Why the hell is Bruce calling me?
      "Hello?" I answer, a little confused.
      "Are you alright, Mr. Vice President?" Bruce asks in a frantic voice.
      "A little banged up," I reply, not quite prepared to explain my hiatus.
      Apparently, I don't have to. Before I can get another word out, he asks, "Can you make to LAX quickly, sir?"
      "Why?" I reply, even more confused.
      "There's a plane on its way, Mr. Vice President," he says. "You're being transported to Langley Air Force Base."
      "I'm on foot, and an earthquake tore up this street."
      "It wasn't an earthquake," he says, "Los Angeles has been attacked."
      "By whom?" Now I'm beyond confused.
      "There's no time to explain, sir. Please just get to the airport as soon as possible."
      It was a long walk to the airport. The city was in ruins, and people were in a panic. None of the roads were drivable. LAX was packed. After a series of excruciatingly painful explanations of who I am, I'm directed to the tarmac where my plane is waiting for me.
      I look at the city from the sky, and an enormous ball of golden light falls from the clouds and the city is engulfed in dust from it's own buildings falling apart.
      I could do a line right about now.