War Is Over

WAR IS OVER
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

It was an electronically imposed night, the whole continent bathed in a black light that overwhelmed the sun until it shone a dark star. Survivors danced to a techtronica algorithm that surged from the ground, a throbbing beat shook every molecule of their bodies. War was over and there was a lifetime for crying. Today was for celebration, the biggest party imagined.

They hired a sentient Yukon storm to blizzard down on the too hot Mediterranean. With a lifespan of mere days it took payment in the instant gratifications which the American enemy had long ago mastered: chocolates, sex, the sensation of a good bowel movement and inane Internet videos. The storm snowed neon through the night, frosting the thin bare trees that lined the streets.

Xuxa sucked in the cold air and fanned her brown leather jacket to let it all in. Her sensitive skin bruised when the storm's light shone on her angelic face and her head still spun from the glut of new information that overwhelmed her at the nodelink. She'd absorbed the entirety of the conquered country, available for only twenty-two Euros per download.

Smooth, glassy, black wolves raced through the streets ahead of the devil-boys. The drive-by canings began at midnight. Even Xuxa headed for higher ground.

"The only thing that's keeping me here is the gravity," she said.