Decrease

Twenty Years Later

The world is a much safer place now. While the current population is nine billion, the world doesn't seem to be overpopulated as it was twenty years ago. Everyone who wants to work has a job. Poverty has been non-existent and people are genuinely happy.

Today we're celebrating our daughter Emily's tenth birthday. Claire is a stay-at-home mom, tutoring our two daughters, Izzie and Emily, and our other son, John, Jr.

Malcolm is a junior at the university studying medicine. I'm director of the CDC, and my mom, Ruth, got married to her best friend Henry, whom she's loved for years.

Ted left Atlanta over nineteen years ago. I don't know where he went and I don't care.

Monica went to New York when a position at NYU became available. She lost everyone in the plague. She teaches pre-med and dates a professor who teaches physics.

No one knows what happened to Julie. She disappeared quietly.

Victor and Georgia live in a small house out in the country. Since their rebirth, neither one of them has truly been the same. They live peacefully, gardening, and enjoy our visits with them every other weekend. They couldn't make it to Emily's birthday, but they sent her a present. Emily's excited to open it.

The joy that lives in this house is more overwhelming than I could have ever imagined. I never thought I could experience so much happiness as I do now. Once, a long time ago, I felt as if there was no future for me. But since then, that feeling has departed, has been buried, and I hope it never has any reason to resurface again. I have peace, but most of all, I have the love of my life and our children.

"John. John," calls Claire from the house.

I turn around and notice her standing by the door.

"Yes, dear, what is it?"

"John, it's the phone."

"Okay, I'll be right in."

First, I check on Emily. She's running around with her friends, enjoying her special day.

My first priority upon entering the kitchen is to first kiss the love of my life, and then squeeze her ass before I answer the phone.

"Hello, this is Dr. Bennett." Silence is the only sound emitting from the other end.

"Hello, is anybody there?" Still, only silence prevails.

When I'm about to hang up, an unrecognizable voice says, "Raw fish can be poisonous." I hear the phone click.

As I continue to hold the phone to my ear, Claire asks, "Who is it, darling?"

I turn around and with a forced smile I say, "I don't know. They hung up."

"Well, they must have dialed the wrong number," says Claire.

I lay the phone down on the kitchen table and walk over to Claire and wrap my arms tightly around her waist, and say, "I love you, Claire. I will always love you."

Claire whispers softly into my ear, replying, "I love you, too, John."

Embraced in my arms is the love of my life. I lost her once. I will never lose her again. I softly kiss her forehead and say, "I'm going to step out front for a moment. I'll be right back to watch Emily blow out her candles." Claire smiles and returns to entertaining Emily's guests.

I open the front door and walk down the sidewalk to the edge of the street. Looking around, I see how alive our neighborhood is; more than it has been in years. Families play together, as everyone enjoys what they have. The world is so alive.

Gazing up towards the afternoon sky, I notice in the horizon, some dark clouds entering Atlanta. An uneasy chill enters my entire being. A cool, gentle breeze begins to blow, signaling that once again winter will be upon us; that once again Atlanta and the rest of the world will succumb to the darkness that once nearly annihilated our species. In the distance, I hear children screaming as they play. Soon, their screams will be of the nightmare that will be reinforced. Oh, God! How many times must we decrease the surface population?

"John," calls Claire.

I turn around and look at my love. "Yes, Claire?"

"Emily's ready to blow out her candles."

"I'll be right there."

Claire returns to the party as I pan the neighborhood to remember the joy I hope to see again. I turn around to join everyone in celebrating my daughter's tenth birthday. I pray it won't be her last. When I reach the front door, I notice a streak of lightning in the western sky. I whisper, "Decrease," as I shut the door, knowing that the diminution of the human race will soon begin again.

                                                                            THE END