8 - upwards to infinity
Welcome to our eighth prompt post.
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
“Minister! Minister! Get in the car!”
Society had advanced so far that I assumed the inevitable destruction of our country would be part of the final absolution of the entire world in a far off future by a supernova sun. If that didn’t happen and Britain was to fall alone, I believed (along with many others I have spoken to since the disaster) that the populous would be spared grief and pain through nuclear eradication, the destruction of everyone in one single moment.
“Minister of State, you must proceed to the bunker immediately.”
I have never been so wrong.
“I refuse to move until I know exactly what is going on,” Michael said, matter-of-factly. Security had always been hellish when it came to protection and Michael always treated them as if the gift of an inch would result in the removal of a mile.
The television had been non stop with scaremongering all morning but Michael hadn’t seen David Cameron grace the television screen, nor Nick Clegg. He assumed, therefore, that this event was just another of the unsolicited terror threats which put a bane on all Ministers and Shadow Ministers of State, preventing them from taking the train like the populous and treating every bus like an unexploded bomb.
“The last I word heard from Downing Street instructed me to remain in my house, which I am currently trying to do. So, unless you are higher up the food chain than The Prime Minister himself, please let me return to my breakfast and my day off.”
I suppose any inquisitive mind would prefer facts rather than the embellishment I naturally provide as a writer and journalist, but truth is rarer than gold now and I simply do not know how many bombs (if they were bombs) were dropped (if they were dropped) or where or when or by whom. I wish I could make this easier on myself and you by listing a series of italicised dates and numbers, weights of weapons and numbers of dead, but I cannot. As a politician, I can assure you, the absence of available knowledge is utterly terrifying.
“Minister, you must get into the car to proceed to the bunker.”
“I refuse to spend another three hours with my feet propped on Theresa May’s handbag in that bunker just because some student animal rights activist has set fire to a copy of The Guardian outside Millbank. I am not leaving.”
I often wonder why the security services, when they came for me at my home in London before or shortly after the first wave of attacks (I am still unclear), seemed so calm. Did they simply not know? Did they not believe what was happening? Can disbelief provide such sanity? I have seen far too many people, ridiculously intelligent people, driven mad trying to clutch back something of life before, clinging onto money, car keys, wills and deeds. I myself still have a wallet containing my Tesco Clubcard. Why do I feel the need to hold on to such a remnant when I’m not even sure if they have Clubcards outside the United Kingdom?
Michael slammed the door shut in the security officer’s face, switching off the television and returning to the solitude of his study. If this was a Home Office issue, Theresa would be able to deal with it. If this was Foreign, William was more than capable. Michael couldn’t think of any way a domestic terrorism event (if that was what it was) could impact Education and so he didn’t have to investigate it until they hysteria waned.
When I’m not even sure outside the United Kingdom exists...
Michael didn’t hear the first wave, nor the second, nor his mobile phone vibrating off his desk as hummed, his iPod stuck into his ears, and wrote notes into the margins of draft Education white papers.
His mobile lit up with a voicemail alert two minutes later.
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*sits down and waits for second part*
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