Into The End

It had been three days since I left my cute old bungalow. Groceries were done, I could cook food, and although it still had some very questionable parts, like the cereal in the eggs benedict, I had a two year Netflix subscription, and my ship didn’t leave for another week.Of course, I only got eleven days to rest after flying a ship around the galaxy for four months, but I didn’t mind. I lived in my grandparent’s old bungalow so I didn’t have to pay rent, and being a pilot for luxury ships had their benefits, including my own quarters, free food and Internet, and the ability to order room service anytime.So yeah, life was good.

INTO THE END

CHAPTER ONE: ACROSS THE GALAXY

The next day, after discovering that my best friend was back in town, I left for Starbucks ignoring the stares I got as I waited on a table. It had been twenty seven years since I was born, but the whispers never stop.I was born in a time when all planets were at war, and people of two different races being together was treated like how the LGBT community was back then. Now, at a time of forced laughter and a painting of peace, it was “encouraged”, but the judging never stops.I was half Venulan, an alien race with eyes so black they looked the were black, and in them shone a tiny star. Along uncharacteristic burn marks on their skin, they could drown in magma and still be alive, but can get dangerously angry and have bad eyesight. One could imagine how interesting they would be.

Plus, my grandmother was latina and I lived with her first two years of college. It was a wonder how I had maintained my no-kills streak.

Oh wait, I hadn’t.My fingers drummed against the table, creating a beat as I watch a huge blonde mess run in. With exhausted pants, skin sweaty, glasses about to fall down and a stray dog barking after her, our resident Victoria Montrez cheered for herself.“Two miles!” She cheered as she slid in next to me. “Take that, high school gym instructor!”I sighed, gesturing for her to sit down on the chair. She did, yelling her order at some employee, who, seeing the look on her face, scurried to fullfish her wishes.

Soon, she gave a new dazzling smile, and I gave her a weak smile.

“So,” she says, putting her bag on the table. “How’s it going?”

“Just the same. Flying a luxury plane around the galaxy, listening a bunch of snooty passengers complain, and the stabbing feeling of guilt anytime anyone mentions the the Supernova Invasion because I just can’t escape my demons.”

She frowns, and instead of pity, she’s over that by now, she shows concern. She grabs my hand, her grip on it iron tight.

“Look,” she tells me. “I know what happened. I was there too, and I saw everything that happened. If you hadn’t done it, someone else would’ve.”

For some reason, it just feels so real, and I’m on the run from a killer, and I’m both the murderer and the victim. I’m standing over myself, whispering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” even if I don’t think I mean it.

The same employee drops two coffees in front of me, and I know that my shaking hands won’t be able to hold them, so I let them stay where they are.

“76 casualties. 49 children. A pregnant woman. All killed because of an order I did. I wasn’t the one who did it, worse, I was the one who forced someone to do it.” My voice wavers, and I bury my face in my hands.

I stand up to leave, and give Victoria a sad shake of head before I run away.

Like I always do.

FOREA

“Ali vićezel orbi magůr Valabuzz,” she speaks, her voice booming around the classroom. Her finger is covered in paint, as she tries to explain more about her painting.

This is a Valabuzz, she explains.

Her canvas show a lone fruit in a basket, in a room with red walls and lit by candles. The fruit is purple, with pink and orange mixed in, almost like a sunset on Earth. Vines are wrapped around it, keeping it in a strong hold.

She tucks a lock of purple hair behind her, watching as the dark skinned orphans gape in amazement. Something about the expressions on their faces give her an amazing feeling of delight, and she grins.

Suddenly, she feels a door opening. She turns to see two guards standing there, and from behind them comes a small man. He doesn’t have any ears, no one from her planet Dyvasia does. His black skin glows in the lights and his purple flowers for hair are tied neatly.

“Good morning, Miss Tonitrua,” he greets, and the scar on his cheek helps her recognize him as the Dyvasian Relations Ambassador. She tenses up, only slightly, as Forea realizes what he’s here for.

The children immediately start whispering, and he only gives them a glance, one that would seem normal to most people but having a degree in Social Psychology helped her decode the slight disgust in his expression. Instantly, rage fills her, because how dare he think of a bunch of innocent children like that just because of their conditions -- children who he can help, but chooses not to.

Yet he can also ruin her life with a snap of his fingers, so stays quiet and plasters a small smile on her face as she greets him.

“Now,” he says, polite pleasantries over. “May we talk alone?”

Most of the children, still undereducated in English, start muttering in confusion and Forea starts to feel the vibrations in the room increase. She taps her fingers on the painting once, twice and thrice. Her students, getting the message, quiet down immediately.

Her smile gets a little larger, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. “Of course. We can talk in the lounge. And...”

She starts to look around. “Masaia, watch the class.” She orders, and a girl with a determined look on her face stands up.

She places a hand in her Fretton coat, a popular brand that originated from Wrazz, and turns to leave, feeling everything in the four-D pocket. Her hand wraps around a piece of silk and starts to rub it.

Operation Crendez was in progress.

CICCUM

Nothing, they had taught him. He was nothing.

His breaths are slow as he stands, his eyes gazing out at the galaxy. Human eyes and glowing symbols on his skin are clear even in the dark. Then, in a second, his breathing stops. He stands without breathing for more than five minutes, unable to move, as if he was bound.

Power bursts in and out of him as he smiles, a slow, sadistic one. A an tortured to the point of insanity.

It was official, Operation Crendez was beginning in a week.

In three months, the galaxy would be his.

In three months, the apocalypse would begin.

And in three months, he would be everything.