The Crazy Years

Things were going down hill fast. And then, they sped up.

Contest Prompt

Write a story or poem containing the word "salamander," a joke about Richard Nixon, a solar panel, and a bagel with cream cheese.

“How was Tricky Dick’s screwing around different from The Donald’s? Tricky Dick kept his dick in his pants.” Stephen Fox chuckled at his own humor. No-one else did. “Can’t take a joke,” he mumbled to himself, jotting it down in his notebook.

He exited the bar having finished his statistical probe. “No coincidence.” What had just happened worried him. “The pattern is obvious. Conspiracy theories are getting weirder and people keep getting weirder with them. It’s a deadly pattern.”

Fox sat down at the nearest bus stop, dug out his smartphone to check the latest headlines. He read the first one out loud to taste how it felt. It didn’t taste good. “New solar panel design creates instant new religion.”

The lead paragraph explained how people looking into a panel saw themselves transformed into the miracle of looking like a suffering Jesus hanging on the cross. The idea was that this was His second coming. Those infused with his image donned sackcloth and ashes, announcing the end of the world was nigh.

The pattern was getting stronger. The next headline exposed a prominent U.S. senator who had publicly married his pet salamander and was now demanding citizenship rights for her and her kin. The right wing wanted him put away in a mental institution but argued over having to fund one that would take him. The left wanted salamanders extended to anything wearing a tail.

“Studying hard?” Eleanor Houston asked, sitting down next to Stephen. She handed him the extra bagel with cream cheese she’d brought in her lunch. The two worked together at the Houston Insurance Statistical Division. It was a prominent part of the national chain checking out why citizens were dying younger each year.

Insurance rates were going up. Paychecks were going down. It was up to the likes of Stephen and Eleanor to change that equation. Stephen poked the data from the headlines into his spreadsheet chart. “Take a look.”

Things were speeding up. Eleanor chewed on her lip instead of her sandwich. “That’s not good. We won’t have any men left in not so many years.”

Stephen swallowed a clump of bagel and took Eleanor’s water bottle for a swig. “Women too, although the line isn’t as sharp. They’ve always been the more resilient sex.”

They both watched as a man staring into one of the new solar panels took off his clothes, looked heavenward and kissed the sky. The woman behind him, shook open a sackcloth, draped it over him, and shook ashes over his head before shooting him with an AR-15 firearm. Applause erupted around her.

“I bet it’s his wife and he asked her to help him get to heaven,” Eleanor suggested through lips coated with mustard.

“We’d better get to work while we still have jobs.” Henry stretched himself up. Overhead, two planes crashed together in the sky. “Most likely intentional,” Stephen said, eyeing the heavens as debris began falling down. “Mass bombings, shootings, and fire settings are up. So are these types of phenomena. It’s getting hard to count all the data.”

“There’s a survival group I’ve been asked to join out in the Death Valley,” Eleanor shook her head at the thought, stepping aside of a mangled piece of plane.

Stephen looked deep in thought. “If you’re serious about leaving work, do it with me. I’ve got a comfy cabin in the Utah Uintah forest stocked with supplies.”

“You think any group larger than two people might become infected?” Eleanor wondered aloud. At twenty-nine, she was living alone and enjoying it. Sometimes she did get lonely. Her growing attraction to Stephen might be the cure. She eyed the man, about six feet tall, leaner than he should be but with all his hair and nice teeth.

“You don’t have to decide now.” He opened the door to their office building to let her go in first.

Inside was havoc. Employees were packing up and leaving. TV news stations turned up high, told people to stay home. Nuclear war was imminent. Stephen switched on his smartphone to dial up the internet for fresher coverage. No worries, he was told. The capitals of all major powers were being hit by major earthquakes, drenched by floods, or hit with windstorms devastating them. Any coordinated governmental action was impossible.

The CEO of their section came down the stairs wearing a silly grin on his face. “We’ve all been canned.” He started shredding what looked like corporate bonds into tiny pieces. “My retirement portfolio.” The man sat at the bottom of the stairs, took his face in his hands and sobbed like a child.

Stephen and Eleanor looked at each other with the same conclusion written on their faces. They turned around and left. Neither wanted to go to their apartments. They both wanted out of there. They might return when things settled down, if they ever did.

They slept in Stephen’s SUV when they were too drained to alternate driving. The roads were a nightmare in cities, not so bad between. The drive up the steep mountain path to Stephen’s cabin was uneventful. It didn’t take long to settle in.

“Why is it so silent? Where are the sounds of mother nature?” Eleanor asked Stephen as they sipped hot tea on the porch.

It was not a good sign. Something bad was reaching out towards them. Stephen looked at the changing colors and patterns in the sky. He reached out to grasp Eleanor’s hand. She returned his touch, making eye contact that refused to let go.

In some ways this had been the best day of Stephen and Eleanor's lives. They had found each other. Would they have more? In mere moments, they would know. in short moments