Billies Seasonal Weather Anomalies

|| One ||

These days, people will use any old excuse to chuck a party all in the name of celebration. Whether it be your favourite celeb winning an Oscar, the president getting fired or it's your cousin's fish's birthday, I've seen and heard it all. So when my boss waltzes over to my cubicle, to go over the terms and conditions regarding my promotion, I'm practically diving towards my phone to let Woolies know they can go ahead and deliver the chocolates and balloons over to my apartment now. I'll show my neighbours what a real celebration looks like.

"You joined this company in 2168," my boss, Bradley, continues on, "that's six years you've been working for us. Loyally, too. That's something I admire in a man such as yourself. Don't be fooled, Phillip, I don't take promotions lightly. Your job, work hours included, will dramatically increase, real quick. You have twenty-four hours to make your decision. Accept or not to accept, it's up to you. If you do wish to go down that road, then a more detailed debriefing will be held at this time tomorrow."

Under normal circumstances, I'd be trying my best not to raise my arm in a quick salute while heroically screaming: "Sir, yes Sir," in his face. However, this is far from a normal circumstance. "Oh, sir, trust me when I say I don't need that much time," I frantically shake my head at him. Only an idiot would stay at home an extra hour just to watch a live footie game over a guaranteed fat cheque of cash every month arriving on your doorstep. "As generous as it is, I really am happy just to, you know, sign it now. Acceptance with a capital 'A', right over here."

Bradley ignores me, choosing instead to re-straighten the position of his perfectly positioned blazer covering his equally expensive, straight shirt. "Twenty-four hours, Phillip. And not a moment sooner. As goes for you being late." Then just like that, the precise man turns on his heel and heads back the way he came.

Well then.

"Ah, the struggles of a young whippersnapper," someone wheezes a croaky laugh across the other side of the room. It's Clay Watson. The seventy-something-year-old security guard who after all this time, still refuses to hand over the badge. I hate to think of what'll happen if the place does get robbed. Watson hobbling after the criminals with nothing more than a flashlight and a mouth full of profanities. Gah.

               I drop my hands to my side and fix a smile to my face. No way am I letting gramps see me pulling a stupid face longer than I really have too. "Uh . . . ha-ha. Yep. Just got a promotion. I think. Anyhow, how are you going? Loving this sunny weather, eh?"

               "Sunny weather?" The old coot coughs up another cackle, "boy, you're sounding older than my Aunt Margaret. Sunny weather, pfft. Only need to flick a switch these days and boom, ya got snow pouring down at you from Canada itself."

               I force another laugh, nod my head and discreetly start to pack up my stuff for the evening. "Well, as always Clay, it's been a pleasure chatting. But I really must be on my way right about now. Cheerio!" With those words and a flick of a wave over my shoulder, I shove open the double glass doors, trying my best not to break into a run. I can still feel Clay's laser beam eyes following me.

                He's right though, I think as I march through a patch of grass, iced with golden Autumn leaves. A flick of a switch. Boom. Canadian snow. I look up to my left at the small park found in the centre of the city. Canadian snow still falls from the sky in light tufts, sprinkling down on the laughing park-dwellers. A few snowmen have already been built under and around various trees.

               So how is this possible? To have a brilliantly pink filled sunset coating the sky on one side and an orange sunrise on the other? To have a bizarrely organic combination of all four seasons spread around the country-side like confetti? Bill. That's how. Or who, I should say. History lesson one-oh-one coming right up. During the early twenty-first century, a young man named Billy Brooks made an amazing discovery that would change the world forevermore.

                He theorised that having multiple massive devices scattered around the globe, you could change, twist and manipulate the weather, and, essentially, the time of day, to suit your needs whenever you want, depending on which unmarked sector you're in. These gadgets, which later came to be known as pofflers, would be invisible to the naked human eye. They'd work by using teleportation. Wind, rain, dust storms, tree leaves, snow, you name it. All can be whisked up to those devices where in return, can then be dished out to any sector grid on earth via tunnels connecting each poffler together.

Did he manage to actually make one of the mystical objects straight out of fantasy-land? He sure did. At first they were pretty basic. Things like moving sunsets and showcasing the Southern Cross were impossible. Plus, there were problems. Such as the pofflers being in the way of space rockets and planes. By the early twenty-second century, the whole system was up and running smoothly.

So what massively famous and rich company now runs this majestic beast? None other than Billies Seasonal Weather Anomalies. And what company
do I work for? The one I recently received a promotion from? Yep, you guessed it. None other then Billies Seasonal Weather Anomalies itself. Pretty sweet, huh?

                 It's dusk now. My colleagues have finally let the moon shine at the forecasted time. Both the sunset and sunrise have vanished, probably sent to Paris or London to make the evening just that little bit more dramatic. I check the stars. Northern hemisphere, for sure. During New Years Eve as well as other special celebrations, they even bring the Aurora Australis and the Aurora Borealis over from the poles. Best nights of the year, I reckon.

               Unlike those magicians of colour, my work is much more element based. Specifically, water. Rain, snow and hail included. Natural disasters too. So if there's flooding in Bangladesh, I'll simply move some of the rain over to the drought in Australia. It can get complicated sometimes, especially with the stakes so high, but it's always rewarding.

                 I grin as I slip my key into the lock on my front door. A promotion. Me. Imagine that. Bradley said they'd be a longer debriefing on my new, enhanced  job tomorrow. I can't imagine that much will have to be said as not much will change . . . right?