Without Significance

People don't die anymore the way they used to.

It used to be that people knew what camaraderie was, running into battles with swords and guns and cannons blazing, like all the good stories. It used to be that people died in the arms of others who prayed for them, softly and sincerely, in their final moments. Men holding each other because they had to, because there was no one else, and for an instant there could be unfathomable and unconditional love because there had to be. Then, the fires would roar and they'd be up again, leaving the fallen alone and cold but always within memory, always tingling on the edge of remembrance. Someone would write a song about them later and call it something simple and sweet so others might wonder what it's really all about.

Now there's just needles and white bed sheets and pills and strange little containers and bags with tubes that weren't there the week before. Dying alone with strangers and a strict deadline to keep. Six months. Six weeks. A few hours, maybe. Depends on charity. Depends on the money. Just depends.

The movies like to think the saddest part is letting go. Talking to the dying with some prepared speech that makes an audience weep and they don't even know why. Sometimes there isn't a reason at all, really. Just because it's an opportunity to feel something more than numbness. An opportunity to feel more than what we can muster for the people we know in our lives that needed to see it. Because that's all we are: numb. Numbed to the killing and the dying alone in hospital beds. Hearing another "I always loved you, always will" or "I forgave you a long time ago" while holding hands until one of them goes limp is a refreshing little twist of angst compared to the usual droll gray-white that always seems to end before the punch line.

A man sleeps in an otherwise empty bed. He's just turned eighty-four years old. A long time ago, he used to deliver papers on a bike that wasn't his. The man down the street named Mr. Johnson used to talk to him every day on his routes. He died a long time ago. He never remembered that kid's name, but he thought about it sometimes when he wasn't thinking.

His children call him on his birthday every year. They can never come up because it's always so busy at home. He doesn't mind though. It's understandable, and he loves them anyways because that's what fathers do. He has pictures of his grandchildren and old photos in black and white. He doesn't remember the faces well anymore, but he likes to look at them and try all the same when there's nothing better to do.

His wife died a few years ago. She was the prettiest girl in school when they first kissed, and her eyes were still the same old blue when she died, only they didn't twinkle so much as they had then and her hands were stiffer and colder than they had a right to be. Now there's no one to listen to him play his piano in the other room but walls filled with faces and an old TV he forgets to turn off.

On a warm sunny morning in May, the man wakes to find himself something to eat. As he reaches for a glass in the cupboard above the sink, his heart seizes. The glass falls and chips the edge of the counter. He lays on the linoleum floor of his kitchen, gripping his chest as he stares at a spot of black lint beneath the fridge. As his vision blurs, he tries to think of what Heaven will look like, but the pressure in his chest makes it hard to think, and all he can see is that fuzzy black spot. He can't think of anything else to do but wait, so he does, and dies.

No hands to hold. No sudden final call from loving relatives. No camaraderie. No note on the bedside table. Just the low gasping for breath that has run out. Just another average man's death in just another average town.

Sometimes we try to find reasons and meanings, when everything's over, just because we feel we should, when the reality is there is no reason. Reasons come with things that happen with consequence, and death has no consequence. It simply is. It comes and it goes and the rest of the world moves on because it must move on. Sometimes he's remembered. Most times, he isn't.

It's just the way it goes. I imagine in a hundred years things won't even need a reason anymore. People will just assume there isn't one and leave the guessing and the speeches we didn't get a chance to make to the movies about fake people and real people that didn't have a reason either, until the time comes for us to die too. So we'll slip into that darkness without a thought, without a reason, without a consequence. Without significance.

I guess people just don't die the way they used to anymore.

The Gods of Babel - "Prologue"

Well, since some people seem to be interested in it, I've decided to put up the first "scene," which takes place at a local bar in northern Canada mid-December and introduces the main character, Diana. Not too bad a start, I think. :)

The plot centers around a small group of unrelated people around the world who are born for the sole purpose of attempting to salvage humanity for the Creator Gods, particularly the Mayan God Alom. They are just unassuming individuals, and all were born on December 21, 2012, when the world was meant to change. One of them is Diana, who plays the Greek Goddess Artemis (and is the only one with an obvious name heh). Anyways, that's what's up in a very simplified way. Enjoy our little endeavor--I won't post more unless you want me/us to and simply can't wait for the comic :D

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INT.LOCAL BAR.NIGHT

The first page opens on a local bar scene late at night. The small bar is strewn with a string of thin white and blue lights, it's only attempt at festive decorations. A few of the usual alcoholic crowd sit hunched at the bar over empty glasses, and a close couple sit quietly in the corner. JACOB the bartender, a burly capable man with the chiseled appearance of an unkempt lumberer, stands cleaning glasses as he chats up a few of the regulars. One customer looks as if he might have once been an average guy, fit and with a neat sort of air, but his face is dotted with stubble and his eyes are bleary and red. He seems to have something important to say, yet avoids saying it and lapses into other things. He stares into a half-empty mug of stale coffee.

Customer

So I guess that's it, then, eh?

JACOB

(turning to him) What's that?

CUSTOMER

I said I guess that's it.

JACOB

What is?

There's a brief pause.

CUSTOMER

I guess there's really nothing else, is there? I mean...now that she's gone n' all. Not much point to it, is there?

JACOB

Hey, now. You quit that talk. Drink your coffee. S'been a long day.

CUSTOMER

Yeah...

He obeys and gulps down the last half with his head tilted back, expressionless. A small gold cross can be seen on a chain around his neck. He turns to Jacob, but doesn't meet his eyes.

CUSTOMER

You believe in God, Jac-Jac?

JACOB

Well...yeah, I suppose. Course I do. Just like most folks....You?

CUSTOMER

Nah...not really. (smirking grimly) Just like most folks.

JACOB

Go home, Bern.

CUSTOMER

Gotta pay still--

JACOB

Don't worry about it.

He stands obligingly, swaying in place as if forgetting where he is for a moment, then pulls on a bulky parka and starts to head out.

JACOB

Go get you some sleep, Bern. You'll feel better in the morning. Promise. Want to see you bright n' early tomorrow at the yard. Alright?

Bern, the customer, smiles lopsidedly, unconvincingly.

CUSTOMER

Yeah, sure.

He leaves, walking out into the dark snow storm outside. Jacob shakes his head with a sigh, beginning to pick up the multiple glasses left behind and wipe down the bar.

DIANA watches him a few feet away, also at the bar, hunched over a single glass and whiskey. She's a fit woman, but not in any especially feminine manner. Her shoulders are broad as a man's and her shoulder-length brown hair is pulled back under a woven gray beanie. She swirls her drink idly and sips.

JACOB

I just don't know about that guy anymore, Di.

DIANA

(disinterested) What did you expect? The guy lost his wife on the highway.

JACOB

So did Adrien. He lost his little girl, too, in the pileup. Still manages to come to service, at the very least.

Diana smirks, sliding down towards him.

DIANA

Don't think it helps much. Didn't do shit for me, I know that much. You can go to all the sermons, but they don't really say anything useful unless you're about to crucify your kid or build a gold cow on a cliff someplace.

JACOB

Damn, what's got into you all lately? All this talk of death, it's all I hear these days.

DIANA

Just life. You know how it is.

JACOB

I sure hope not.

He looks out the window at the blizzard.

JACOB

What d'you think the odds are that he hangs himself tonight, eh?

DIANA

(shrugging) Dunno. 'Pends on if he can find a place to do it. I'd say drowning's more likely.

JACOB

(exasperatedly) Di! Come on, have a heart, why don't you. Just a little faith... You're supposed to say you don't think he'd do that sort of thing. You know, like normal folk would.

DIANA

What? Just speculating. You asked.

Jacob "humphs" and ignores her, knowing she's won, as usual, and Diana knows it too as she sips at her drink and smirks at him through the bottom of the clear glass.

JACOB

So you don't think there's a God either anymore, eh?

DIANA

Who knows? Who cares? Far as I'm concerned, I'll figure it out when it matters, right? Maybe it's one of those things you're not supposed to know. Makes sense.

JACOB

Yeah, I guess. To each their own. I'd like to think there's somethin' waiting up there after everything.

DIANA

Like you said, to each their own. Endless blackness doesn't sound all that bad to me. Better than some loony old guy sitting in a cloud staring me down all day.

She smiles empathically at him, though, and Jacob returns it with some sadness. Diana stands with a yawn and slides a $20 bill from her back pocket onto the counter. She shrugs on a worn gray-orange parka and pulls the hat down further on her head.

DIANA

Be seeing you. Tell your wife merry Christmas.

JACOB

Yeah, I'll do that. Take care, Diana.

She doesn't answer, already heading out the door, but waves a hand in the air in good humor. Her dark bulky figure disappears into the snow and night.