Chapter One: First Impressions: Part One

Isn’t it strange how what was once world-shaking can become almost mundane once you get used to it?

I gently used the spatula to shift my eggs from the pan to the plate. If not, then the yolks would burst. Most of the time I like them well cooked, but on a whim, I decided to try making them a bit runnier today. The eggs join the mushrooms, cooked tomatoes, toast, baked beans, and bacon on the plate.

Ah, the good old English breakfast, truly the best way to start the day.

Sitting down at the small table in the kitchen, I clicked on the TV set up at the end of the counter. It was small, brand new, and had a surprisingly good picture. Doug had won it as one of the prizes in some first-person shooter tournament. Since he already had some pretty impressive screens and monitors in his rooms, he’d made this one a communal telly. It was nice for mornings like this, where I could just click it on and watch something while eating.

“. . . –shows no sign of ending at any point in the near future. The rebel forces, backed by an as yet unidentified deity, are pushing further towards the capital city of Abuja. As of yet, civilian casualties have been remarkably light, however large portions of the country’s military have been captured and taken into custody. We have a report from Andrew Naylor on the scene.”

The image of the news presenter shifted to a man in his middle years standing at the side of a dirt road. In the background, a large wire fence encircled an area with a large number of tents and simple wooden huts within.

“Behind me stands one of the large camps that have been erected to serve as housing and detention centres for the defeated soldiers of the Nigerian military. A week ago, these men and women were working to suppress the recent uprising of the forces of the god tentatively identified as Ṣàngó, but now they are defeated and stripped of their weapons, completely at the mercy of the force they fought against.”

The man turned and waved at the camp behind him, before turning back to face the camera.

“Fortunately, it would seem that the mercy of their captors is most admirable. We were granted access to the captured soldiers, and as far as we can see there is no sign of violence or mistreatment. The prisoners are afforded a healthy diet and medical care, fully in keeping with all international laws. Here are a few interviews with both the captives and members of the rebel army.”

The picture changed to the reporter inside a tent speaking to an African man in military fatigues.

“What are your feelings on your current circumstances?”

Next to the reporter, a man translated the question and as the man in the military clothing began to answer his words were then drowned out as a dubbed translation began.

“Though I do not believe the rebels are in the right in their actions I am happy that they are being civilized in their rebellion. Africa has a history of regimes being overthrown and then replaced with a poorer system. While I do not agree with the method the rebels are taking, I am thankful for the civility in their actions. I hope that they and the government will still come to a peaceful solution.”

The scene changed and the reporter, still accompanied by his translator, was now standing outside one of the tents, this time addressing a woman. She wore similar military clothes to the man, but she had a gun at her hip and a brightly colour badge pinned to the left side of her chest.

“What were your reasons for taking part in this rebellion?” the reporter asked, his guide translating for him. The reply was given, and the voice-over translation began.

“The government has been trying its best, but it is unprepared to deal with the changes that have been rocking the world. Great Ṣàngó has proven his power and his good intentions, so it is for the best of this country if he can assume power. Unfortunately, the government has not chosen to stand down, so we must take steps to change their minds, even if it is through force.”

Again, the picture changed, taking us back to the reporter standing outside the camp.

“The situation remains uncertain. One can only hope that matters are able to find a peaceful resolution before the violence escalates further.”

The picture returned to the studio as the newscaster shuffled some papers before looking up to face the camera. By his side, a new picture showed a modern suburban setting. The houses were covered in masses of plastic garbage. Bottles, ropes, nets, can rings, plastic bags, just great lumps of condensed and unrecognizable debris, all of it draped across the houses in a single huge mass that had an almost organic look to it. Here and there one could see bits of wood and seaweed mixed in with the rubbish, a silent testament to its origin. The mess extended over the lawns and porches of the homes, spilling out onto the roads and pavements.

“This morning a small American neighbourhood in San Francisco found itself buried in refuse as it came raining down from the sky. Though nobody was seriously hurt, substantial damage was dealt to homes and vehicles in the area.”

The picture took up the full screen and I could see where a section of a roof had caved in under a plastic crate filled with more rubbish. The crate had fallen in just the right way to punch through the tiled roof. The picture then switched to several broken windows; the glass shattered into jagged shards.

“It has been confirmed that the refuse originated from the eastern Great Pacific Rubbish Patch, having somehow been expelled from the sea and sent flying inland. This represents the fourth such expulsion of plastic debris in the last week, and as before the residents of the affected area are of mixed views on what had taken place.”

Stolen story; please report.

The screen shifted to an interview with a young woman standing in front of one of the houses that were partially buried in plastic waste. She was dressed in a white t-shirt and had her blonde hair done up in a ponytail that poked out of the back of her baseball cap. Despite the grim scene behind her she had an energetic grin on her face and was directing it at the reporter that was holding a microphone out to her.

“I’m not happy this has happened, but I’m trying to see the bright side, y’know?” She explained while waving at the sea of rubbish. “Pretty much all of this is plastic, so once we can get it all piled up it can all be recycled. I get why some people are *beep*-ed, but look at what we can do! I mean, this is gonna be something like a year’s worth of recycling in one go! That’s gotta be worth something, right?”

I felt my lips twitch slightly at the censor bleep as she spoke, amused that the BBC still used that, even as swearing was becoming more common in the media. More than that though, I was interested in the girl’s attitude. It was peppy, but a cynical side of me wondered if she’d keep up the same attitude once the camera was no longer on her.

The scene switched to a middle-aged man standing next to a battered car that seemed to have several spider webs of cracks on the windscreen. Unlike the woman he wasn’t smiling, instead, his expression was distinctly thunderous.

“This . . . this is outrageous!” He snapped. “I am conscientious about recycling, I put litter away where it needs to go, and . . . and this is what happens?! These gods don’t give a damn about us! They don’t care whether we’re meeting their standards or even trying, they just do whatever they want, and we’re left to clean up the mess, if we make it through alive!”

The man’s face was turning an unhealthy shade of red, and his cheeks visibly twitched. However, as clear as his anger was, so was his fear.

“It’s . . . it’s not right, you know? It’s not right at all.”

The picture changed once more to the newsroom, the presenter facing the camera as the image beside him panned across the multiple houses buried in trash.

“This incident is simply the latest in a recurring series that began after the deities Poseidon, Neptune, and Tiamat all began efforts to, in the words of Hermes, ‘cleanse their waters of the filth of mortal folly’. Many environmental groups have rejoiced at these developments, claiming that this is merely the natural order re-establishing itself now that its guardians have returned, but there are increasing concerns regarding the outcome of these actions.”

The picture was replaced with a chart, one with a red line that was climbing at a disturbingly sharp angle.

“Since these incidents began the amount of waste being hurled inland has increased with each incident. As of yet, it has proven to be more of a nuisance than a genuine danger, but there is concern that as the amounts increase the damage will grow. At the beginning of the year, it was estimated that there was at least as much as eight million tonnes of waste spread across the oceans.”

Now the picture displayed a mass of plastic rubbish floating in the ocean.

“Word has reached us that the American government is hoping to open talks with the ocean gods through such intermediaries as Hermes and Iris. The hope is to arrange a designated target for the ejections of rubbish. However, given how earlier negotiations with deities have proceeded, hopes for success are flagging.”

The picture next to the news presenter faded to white and then was replaced with a new image. This time there was a picture of smashed buildings and torn-up streets next to him.

“Two days ago, the small American town of Evansmouth in Missouri was enjoying their ninety-seventh founding anniversary. Yesterday it was reduced to ruins as it became the third and worst casualty of the ongoing battle between an angel and a demon, neither of which has been identified as of yet, that continues to rage across eastern America. So far there have been a confirmed twenty-seven dead and at least thirty-five injured, with the cost of the damage dealt to the town’s buildings and infrastructure still unclear.”

Some more pictures came up, but I deliberately glanced down at my plate, not wanting to see them. The images of the shattered town, they were reminders of just how easy it was to be caught in the middle of a clash of forces easily able to crush me and my life like ants caught under a footstep. The area I lived in was small and out of the way, and the UK had managed to avoid more than a few incidents after the return of the King, but even so, seeing things like that, it was disturbing. Still, it didn’t last long, and when I finished, I looked up to see what was being reported now.

“-as of yet is still under discussion!”

The screen didn’t show the broken town now, instead, the picture was of Buckingham Palace, large crowds gathered outside it. Many of them were holding up signs with such slogans as; ‘Let the King Take His Throne’, ‘One True King, Now’ and ‘The King Is the Land, the Land for the King’. It was all easily recognizable, this sort of thing had been going on for more than a couple of months now, it had been plastered all over the news to the point where it was almost depressing how it seemed to be blotting everything else out.

“No official word has been released on what the King’s official response is, but with increasing public pressure it is only a matter of time before an official stance will have to be adopted by the government!”

Again, the screen came back to the news presenter, this time with a silhouette of a cow with a question mark inside it displayed next to him.

“The ASPCA, the American animal protection society, has once again staged a protest outside the White House regarding the growing trend in the use of livestock for sacrifices.”

The newscaster’s image was replaced by a woman in a business suit standing outside the famed American building, in her hands she held a cardboard sign saying, ‘No Life Wasted’. She was being interviewed by a reporter with a microphone.

“This has got to stop! Every week cows, chickens and pigs are killed for no reason. I could get it if they were being butchered for their meat, but in most cases, their bodies are just being left to rot at some shrine or other. It’s just such a waste of life. The government has to put a stop to it.”

Her image blanked out and was replaced by another woman, this time in overalls with a tractor in the background.

“I can’t say I’m too keen on this sacrifice thing, but since my brother started doing it you can see how much faster the crops are growing and the animals maturing. With all the demands placed on us by recent events we need to be able to maximise our output, and if offering up some of our stock to Demeter and Enten will help us with that, then I’m willing to let it continue.”

The picture returned to the original newscaster.

“Incidents such as these have become more and more popular as older forms of worship are being taken up again. So far, the majority of governments around the world have allowed such practices to continue, but have been firm on human sacrifice remaining a crime.

“Now, in further news, international debates with Cuba still rage on as to the legitimacy of their claiming the newly risen island chain of-”

I clicked the television off as I forked the last of the food into my mouth. Nothing really interesting there, just the same old stuff that I’d been getting used to over the past weeks. It was so strange, the things that you can come to regard as routine in such a short time. Humanity has always been nothing if not adaptable.

That was just life.