Hear the Roar

"Things do not happen. Things are made to happen." - JFK

Silence. Only silence accompanied the eyes, transfixed on this man. This man, who held the world in his hand. This man, who could decimate cities with a single word. This man, who can change the world with a snap of his fingers. 

The man cleared his throat. "Today, a most... unfortunate... occurrence has befallen our nation. Now, as you all know, the Lost Sector has been contained thoroughly. However, our best efforts failed to... uh... you see, we failed to control something very dangerous."

His audience of twenty or so people, mostly reporters, gazed on intently. "As of now, we cannot confirm the identity of what has escaped, only that it has escaped. We are sorry to report that we have failed to trace it."

Thousands of miles away, fire. A bright light. An explosion. A metal device flies up.

"Of course, we can ensure that our best efforts are being put forth." It pierces the atmosphere. "The government organizations in the area have prioritized reinforcing containment of the Sector before we taken any further movements." It aligns itself in space. 

A reporter steps forward. "Sir, can you specify which agencies are at work?' Flames erupt from its rear. "I'm sorry, but that information is classified." There is an explosion, then it falls, speed added from the increasing gravity. Another reporter steps up. "Sir, how long do you intend to keep the activities of the Sector in secrecy?" It breaks the atmosphere. "I am not prepared to answer that question as of now." 

"Now, I'm adjourning this conference to a later date. From now on until this conflict is resolved, I am forced to declare a state of national emergency." A shrill sound pierces the air as it breaks sound barriers.

A crash. An explosion. Flames erupt. No screams, only the roar of the fire. Listen to its tale.

Within seconds, nothing is left. No traces of a once great civilization. No remains. Only ash. Where the conference was held, faint outlines traced out in black dust depict creatures that once were. Creatures that consumed the world, only to be dissolved, with this as the sole trace of its existence. And where the man had stood, an outline of the years. Progress, revolution, freedom, peace, and then - fire, flames, and a single machine, a pencil made to erase, a tool that should have never been used. 

His last words echoed through the satellites to the televisions, which filled countless homes with alarms, declaring a national emergency. The devastating device had brothers, it seemed, for countless machines rose up. Some launched with nothing left to destroy, others prepared for signals never to come. It seemed as though the world had been born by fire and with fire it shall end. With no one left to direct them, the machines erupted, lost without a cause, no aim to destroy.

The alarms rose in intensity, blaring out throughout the world.

A pity there was no one left to listen.