skonen_blades

The voting age was lowered to five years old.

Politicians started literally dressing like clowns.

Along with lowered taxes, they promised:
Later bedtimes.
A cookie in every jar.
No child going without a story.
A massive elementary school restructuring campaign.
Ball pits and slides, fire poles and pillowed halls.
Colours so neon that the 80s felt drab.
Mandatory art classes twice a day.
A bigger say in the curriculum of their school.
(Which is why ‘dragon’ is a language elective now.)

Debates raged:
Harsher punishments for bullies versus stronger emotional outreach for them.
More autonomy for children versus extra support for quality guidance and stewardship
‘Listen to my no’ versus reasons for doing difficult tasks
Math vs forget math

Politicians would talk to the adults
Take a pause
And then talk to the children

Children felt like they mattered
Some of them for the very first time

Overnight, childcare support bloomed
Daycares popped up like mushrooms in offices, neighborhoods, and companies
With the names of politicians across the front awning.
The low-quality ones quickly spelling doom for that name.

Children were brought to deeper troughs of education
So they could make better decisions about the issues

Toy companies became some of the biggest lobbiers
Hugs and ginger ale were classified as medical supplies

Politicians put on puppet shows to explain the issues.
Adults pretended
(condescendingly)
to watch the performances with their kids for fun.
(but actually)
Some of those adults were understanding the issues for the first time

And the kids
Pumped so full of care for the earth and animals
Voted in droves
for the greener candidates
for robotics and space travel
for atmospheric renewal and waste treatment

Of course the politicians lied
Of course they did
But no one hates like a child
The raw purity of a double cross
(No takebacks)
Was the loss of a vote

The only problem was that
The memory of a child
The distractability of a child
Was still no different than most adults

The world was improved
A little
Made sillier
A lot

Made snugglier
Made more colourful
Made safer
Made weirder

Of course it was too little too late
And we died out anyway
But it took longer
And it was way more fun



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The oval office had been compromised. I knew because I was the one who compromised it.

I was standing over the body of the celibate, atheist president. The dark hues of her face were being framed by the blood from her slit throat as she lay on her back looking up at me. Her feet kicked slower, more of a rub that a kick, and then lay still.

Her throat stopped bubbling.

The hammering on the door was what snapped me back to reality. I could hear footsteps outside and I knew that soon the room would be filled with fireworks.

I made the sign of the cross, activating the transmitters embedded in my forehead, shoulders and torso. They lit up blue, wiped the room with bright light, and I vanished.

Soldiers burst through the expensive French doors into an oval office containing the corpse of a now ex-president, the smell of lilacs, and nothing else.

I arrived in the transportation bay with a double-flash of light and a release of pent-up breath. I was never comfortable on missions that required an instant transport. I’d been reassured by the people that built it, people even smarter than me, that it was safe. Whatever. As far as I was concerned, it just hadn’t malfunctioned yet.

I stepped off of the platform into the receiving bay and was greeted by my fellow seraphim returning from their separate missions. Almost all of them had returned by now.

The top businessmen and politicians in the world were being killed by us and blame was being thrown around by our operatives. The Rapture was well on it’s way to being a complete success until we noticed that Seraphel hadn’t returned from his mission yet.

An alarm turned us to the bank of monitors embedded in the ship’s walls. CNN was playing a clip live from the office of Industrialist Nick “The Shadow” Milovets. He was holding up Seraphel’s head by his long, blond hair. Serpahel’s glowing, blue eyes stared into the camera as his head spun from The Shadow’s hand.

He was screaming into the camera in Czech. He was asking Heaven if this was the best it could do. Seraphel’s wings were nailed to the wall of his office in the background along with what looked like several of his bodyguard mercenaries.

“There goes our cover story.” said Azmareal to my right. I shot him a disapproving look and called up Response and Containment.

Chelarahmel appeared in front me, flickering, with a questioning look on her face. I nodded at her. She frowned, holding back tears, before disappearing.

“Clear” came from the loudspeakers on all decks. As one, we turned our thoughts to love.

Chelarahmel sent an overload command to Seraphel’s transmitters. On the television, an angelic glyph burned bright on the forehead of our dead friend. Nick "The Shadow" Milovets yelped as his hand started to burn. The yelp turned into a scream as his office shuddered.

The screen went white as CNN lost the feed and returned to spouting panicked theories.

Maybe it’s because I was the oldest but everyone on my deck seemed to be holding their breath and looking at me.

“Well, this’ll wake up Hell. Strap in. We might not have time to group and strategize. The humans won’t blame themselves now.” I said. “We proved our existence in their media and moved antagonistically. Father can’t help us now and we’ve broken the covenant.”

I smiled up at them.

“Open the channels”, I said “Let our side know that the end of the world is coming.”

The deck erupted in cheers and started strapping on the armour.





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