The Pole Shift

Sean's Neighbours

The Neighbours reacted in an entirely different manner to Sean's easy acceptance of 'The End'. The young family next door, who had looked down on Sean since his wife had moved out, went into a state of panic. The father, Tom, banged on Sean's front door one morning demanding to know his plans. Fuck all, Sean said and Tom went red.

                "Got anywhere you want to go to? Where's your wife, where's your extended family? Wouldn't you prefer to be with them?"

                "My wife left me Tom, I have no idea why." He ignored Tom's snort and continued.  "She can come to me if she wants, I'm on high ground. " Sean cocked an eye at Tom, "do you think I should stalk my ex-wife at this stage of  world history?" Tom knew he had been rumbled. Sean slurped from a pewter goblet. It was an intimidating vessel, and he was glad he had chosen it to house his vodka and coconut water.

                "Yeah why not? We are a family with a lot of other family, I'll buy your place. We intend to survive this fucking Pole Shift or whatever the fuck it is." Sean had never heard Tom swear and his hackles rose.

                "Excuse me?  You can't tell me to leave my home." His tall effete neighbour reddened further, took a step back, then lurched forward.

                 "You're just a drunk who doesn't work! What do you actually do here day in day out? Wank off? You perve! What do you do? We watched your YouTube video you bloody kid!" Tom was hysterical and Sean realised the man was scared. He felt himself deflate.

                "I, I think about things. Listen mate, we will need to be friends. I have a lot of food stored, If we do survive we have to be friends. We have to help each other."

                "And have you rape my wife and do Christ knows to the children?" Sean was shocked. Tom's twin girls often smiled at him, once he heard them shout out, "I can see the man, it's the man!' His smile had faded as he heard them shushed up. Sean said:

                "Don't get weird on me please." Tom didn't answer, but paced away, slapping a section of sweet corn down as he did. Sean realised his feelings had been hurt, why did his neighbours think so little of him -  rape his wife? He always smiled and nodded to them, was that not friendly? Had some slander been told of him?

                  No cans for you, he thought, then closed the door. The confrontation jolted Sean out of the fantasy he had been living. There really was going to be hardship, maybe violence.  Men would do things to men that might be worse than being ground down to the bones by nature. The new and dire warnings against hoarding food suddenly seemed razor edge perilous.  Could he be overcome by the authorities or those as zealous? Could he be executed for hoarding food? Might there be those who would murder him for it?  This wasn't a case of speeding, or not paying your tax, it was martial law. New law. He had just told someone who hated him he had 'lots of food stored'.  He cursed and walked into the cellar. He had perhaps one thousand tins, two years of food. With his garden and newly acquired vegetable seed bank, and the newly delivered ISA Brown chickens, he thought he might be able to self sustain. But have it taken away from him, would it really be like that? He saw himself tending vegetables under a bright sun, a blue sky, and the swaying mountain ash whispering in a breeze. It was a fantasy! Suddenly he groaned.  He thought perhaps he should stop the booze. He looked over to the corner of the cellar, where forty bottles of vodka stood like stalagmites. One part of him said ride this wave, the other demanded he make telephone calls to family, report the food horde, and let Tom have his house.

                Instead Sean went online and started to buy more and more survival gear. He wished he had thought about hardware as well as food, a lot of things were sold out and a lot of online stores had banners saying they weren't open. He bought twenty meters of surgical tubing he could make a sling shot out of though, and twenty large rat traps. He bought 200 arrows, but no bows were available. He realised that buying these things were marking him, and as much as he wanted to bid on the plethora of survival items that sprung on EBay he held back,  and started getting irrelevant on the PC, playing poker, commenting on Facebook and watching YouTube. Making sure that the algorithms checking for certain behaviour gave him a tick of approval. A good citizen.

                Over the weeks, whilst the cliques formed - the varying Survivalists,  the Deniers, the Confused the Hedonists and the accepting Fatalists, he gathered more food and materials. He sat in the cellar and looked at his cans, sipping vodka. He made some inept weapons, the surgical cord slingshot was toy like,  and the bow he was fashioning  was of incorrect wood.  The word spread that survivalists were to be outlawed, no food hoarding, no fortifying of properties, no gang like behaviour. A don't fight your fate message.

                 He realised he was a lone wolf survivalist , a shoddy one.  He hated the idea of sharing anything with anyone.  Martial law could be applied to his actions,  but he was unexpectadly happy, enjoying getting ready for the Shift even if he didn't survive it and  as if on cue, as if having reached a level of happiness that women are attracted to, his ex wife turned up at the door.

They never had children. But behind her were two small faces. And in the car on the drive was a lumbering asshole that could only be the Dad of the brats that suddenly laughed at him. She had only left him six months ago. "Hi Sean, room for some little ones?" He was incredulous even though he was battling a sturdy hangover.

                "What the fuck no!" He took a step out and closed the door, the boyfriends expression had changed from shrewd friendliness to aggression. Sean thought he might slap some corn down too.  "You can't just walk back into my life! You left me!"

                "Who wouldn't! The state you were in, drinking, gambling! I bet you are glad this Pole Shift is upon us!" He had no answer to that and she smiled at him, having hit home. The boyfriend joined her. He wasn't imposing, he was fat, and shorter than Sean. His hairline was receding. When their eyes met however it was Sean that looked away, there was a flintiness Sean lacked and his initial pleasure at being physically better off evaporated.

                "Listen you two." Said the boyfriend, his voice high yet authoritive. "It's not about you, or me, or even the kids. It's about humanity trying to survive." They looked at the two children, one had found his sling shot and was loading it up with a green tomato, the youngest was poking further up the garden. Sean curled his lip at them then and found the words he was looking for.

                "If you don't fuck off I'll call the police and at best they will beat you and your brats and drag you away or at worst shoot you all for being survivalists and attempting to take over someone else's home . Is that what you are, survivalists? That's illegal you know. Why don't you pop over to Tom and see if they have some room, he is a survivalist too." His ex wife looked at him steadily as her boyfriend took a step towards him and said:

                "Tom said you'd be like this. It's you that's the survivalist though, how much food do you have cached away again? That's what will have you shot you dumb fuck Sean." Sean was aghast and felt betrayed again by his grim eyed wife. He glared at her. They were the family that Tom had talked about, they were the ones he had meant. He looked at the boyfriend again.

                "You're Tom's fat brother ." For the first time the rotund man lost his composure then quickly regained it.

                 "Yes Sean I am, and we are going to take your house, you've forced my hand. You're a drunken  idiot, we might have let you stay here in some capacity but you've had your chance. I want you out of the house by the end of the week, or we are going to do the law abiding thing and report you as a food hoarder. They marched back to the car as a tomato whizzed past his ear. He didn't care, all he could think of was the times his wife had spent at Tom's, getting to know his fat brother.