Destroy the World
It would take all of three seconds to destroy this world. Just a simple push of a button and whoosh… the entire planet reduced to so much space dust. I usually lightly kiss the tips of my fingers right before I do it as if saying good riddance to the unfortunate souls on the unfortunate world. Or perhaps it’s to demonstrate the precarious nature of it all one minute the Earth is there and the next it’s gone like a splash of water in the desert.
People mill about me in this pathetic excuse for a park, White Deer Park in Walkinville, a nondescript town in a nondescript part of Earth. A park named after a deer killed by an errant truck and found on the side of the road. Normally, such a creature would be disposed of like the rest of the roadkill found every day, but this particular deer was albino, making it unusual. So the good citizens of Walkinville decided to stuff it, mount it on a hillside, and create a small, useless, park around it. The park is just a grassy hill with a haphazardly placed sidewalk scratched into the side and a few benches scattered around seemingly at random. Hardly any trees can be seen anywhere and the only consolation for this municipal nightmare is what can only be described as the murkiest bog of a lake ever discovered by man at the far end, still and stagnant and the color of phlegm coughed up in the midst of a bad cold. These people had killed what little nature existed here and stuffed and mounted it like that poor deer. It didn’t help that the place was also situated near the largest sewer line in the town and so the whole area smelled like a bad fart.
I guess I should have picked a better place to evaluate whether or not the Earth should be spared its fate. But really, who am I kidding? One place is as good as the next. The Earth isn’t set for destruction for its beautiful vistas or elaborate cities. It’s the people’s fault, and the best place to evaluate people, I’ve found, is in small communities like this.
I look around and see a fat couple walking their dog and glistening with sweat. It’s an unusually hot day, and they are pretty fat, even by small town standards. Their dog is an unfortunate combination of poodle and pug and seems to be enjoying the heat of the afternoon even less than me. The woman is wearing a pair of pajama shorts at least two sizes too small and her significant other can’t seem to breath through his nose. Even just watching him walk makes me weary with the effort.
Of course, they aren’t the only ones with pets. To the left I see an overly athletic, overly tanned, overly blonde middle-aged lady jogging next to her faithful great dane whose black coat would be slick with sweat if he had sweat glands. The poor thing keeps pace with her despite the fact that he’s obviously about to collapse from heat stroke and, in all likelihood, die right there on the sidewalk. Another person looks painfully bored as he throws a ball to his dog who dutifully brings it back looking like this is the best thing that has ever happened to it. The bored owner then decides to pretend to throw the ball and just sits down, ball in hand, as he watches his dog go scrambling to look for it. Another lady, inexplicably dressed in a sweater and sweat pants, walks her cat on a leash. And a couple of kids are gathered around one of the few trees attempting to coax down a squirrel with some chewing gum on a stick. One of them holds a pocket knife behind his back.
I sigh. Nothing about this park gives me any hope for humanity or the world it lives on. Maybe the town proper can give me a better perspective. So, getting up, I decide to walk to the downtown area of town or, as the locals call it “Old Towne,” complete with an extra “e.” On the way, the sky is clear and blue and the sun blazes from up high making the heat palpable, almost visible down below. My gathering depression, however, numbs my senses to the summer weather despite being dressed in a grey suit, the inner shirt plastered to me by the sweat running freely down my back, neck, and arm pits and my hair drenched as if I had just taken a shower. I walk down a sunny sidewalk lined with old homes, their sputtering a/c units sheltering most of the people from the intense heat outside.
“Hey Preacher Man!” I hear from my right. An old lady sits on her porch fanning herself with an old magazine. She’s smiling and waving at me while gently swaying back and forth on a creaky rocking chair. She’s small and wire thin and her hair is a crispy gray. Her skin is the color of coffee and cracked and wrinkled like a well-used leather chair.
I smile at her. I’m not a preacher, but considering my attire I imagine it’s an easy mistake to make. She waves me over and smiles back at me. Despite her age, she has the most perfect set of teeth I have ever seen, ivory jewels, made more stark by her coffee complexion. He smile is so bright as to be contagious and I find myself grinning even wider without even thinking about it as I step up to her porch.
As soon I as I get there she hands me a small, cool rag which I gratefully use to wipe down my head and neck.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” I say.
“No problem, Preacher,” She replies. She looks out onto the sunny street.” Sure is a hot one today.”
“That it is,” I say. “That it is.”
“Would you like some tea?” she asks, waving her hand towards a small table by her chair. On it sits a pitcher glistening with condensation and filled almost to the brim with golden liquid, slices of lemon, and, most heavenly of all, crackling pieces of ice. Simply put, it’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
I look at the lady intently, and she’s still smiling with her perfect teeth, then I nod and say, “Yes ma’am. I would. Thank you. Thank you very much. “
“It’s the least I can do, mister, on a hot day like this.” She says and reaches down and grabs a brown glass from underneath her table. I notice she has more than a handful down there as if she’s ready to hand out tea to everybody who happens to walk by that day. She picks up the pitcher with shaky hands, and I make as if to help her, but she shakes her head and I stop. She carefully pours tea, lemons, and ice into the glass without spilling a drop and then sets down the pitcher just as deliberately.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me the glass and then picks up her own, half full, from behind where she set the pitcher. She takes a sip and then settles down in her chair with a contented sigh.
I raise my own glass and take a smooth draught. The tea is crisp, sweet, and blessedly cold. I close my eyes and breath in deeply. I have lived for many long years and I’ve experienced in my lifetime highs and lows that are higher and lower than most beings from most planets can even imagine. And I can honestly say that that swallow of tea will forever be with me among the best of my memories.
I finish my tea with my own sigh of contentment and open my eyes to the realization that I had kept them closed for the entire time I was drinking. I look down at the old woman who immediately barks out a cackling laugh at the look on my face. Setting down the glass on her table I smile and nod at her.
“Thank you again, Ma’am.” She just nods back at me, closes her eyes again, and continues to fan herself with her old magazine.
I walk back out to the sidewalk only pausing once to look back at the old lady on the porch whose iced tea had just saved her planet from annihilation.
