justprompts
The world is ending next week thanks to the Winchesters so what are you going to do with the time you have left?
[okay, set up: I haven’t slept this week very well, and so when I saw this, I thought WHY THE FUCK NOT have Nate in a SPN verse-ness thing since he already is BFF’s with Judas from JCS2000. This will only exist for this prompt and subsequent prompts that occur due to a lack of sleep in the future.
Also, please be aware that all the news reporters ARE real, and not images of my imagination and I borrow their image with the up-most respect to them.]
Wire in a fire, representing seven games, a government for hire and a combat site. / Left of west and coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck. / Team by team reporters baffled, trumped, tethered cropped. / Look at that low playing! / Fine, then. / Uh oh, overflow, population, common food, but it'll do. / Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed dummy with the rapture and the revered and the right - right. / You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched. / It's the end of the world as we know it. / It's the end of the world as we know it. / It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.'>
“This is Karen Fuller with KCTV 5 and we interrupt your current TV programming with a Live Action Update. We go to Jeane Kiesling with our first alert action team for more coverage.”
The TV cut to an image of a very disassembled looking reporter, if one didn’t know better, it could even be assumed that she was wearing an evening gown, the V-Cut showing off more than her average work-day attire. Her hands shook as she held her bright blue microphone, the other held folders over her head, protecting herself from what appeared to be grey snow falling from the sky. This was odd, for while most of the continental US had been experiencing heavy snow falls (even Dallas had a few scant inches) the Kansas City area had yet to see anything beyond flurries, which in all reality, could be mistaken for a chilly summer rain.
“Thank you Karen, this is Jeane down at fifty first and Troost where something unbelievable has just occurred. We have reports that a single white, unarmed man walked into the Porsche Café and used nothing more than his mind to kill upwards of two dozen customers. It is then said that he subsequently set the entire block ablaze-“
The screen cut back to Karen, with her bleached out teeth, who was being handed another set of papers.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you Jeane, but we just got reports that there is a rampage in Ottawa and Lawrence Kansas on both University Campuses, we go to Eric Chaloux for more coverage”
The screen cut to an equally hastened clean cut man, his typically gelled hair pushed back, as if he had spent the last few moments running his hands through it. “Thank you Karen, this is Erick with action-“
He didn’t even complete his introduction, and the screen cut back to the news room. This time to the meteorologist Katie Couric, who skipped her intros, (for all of the KCK and KCMO area knew Katie) and started to highlight various parts of Eastern Kansas and Western Missouri, the rainbow of colors spreading as far south as Oklahoma and Arkansas, and as far north as Nebraska and Iowa.
“The National Weather Service is issuing Tornado. Flood, and Earthquake warnings for the following counties. Platte, Buchanan, Clinton, Clay, Jackson, Lafayette, Johnson, Cass, Saline…” She continued to list all the counties of Missouri, west to east, before starting on Kansas. “Wyandott, Johnson, Douglass, Leavenworth, Jefferson, Miami, Franklin, Linn…”
She was not cut off, though eventually the teleprompter gave up, and started to list them on the bottom. It was safe to assume however, that if you lived in the mid-west, your county was listed.
“There has been fourteen reported touchdowns, and a point six was recorded on the richtor scale…”
The TV that all this was showing on, the voices blaring through the side panel speakers, the images flickering, it was not on a wall, or even on a TV stand. But, instead, this TV, this pool of false calm, laid on its side, in the back room of St. Mark’s Methodist Church. Three men paced the room, one, in his late fifties was praying and taking notes and preparing a sermon at the same time. The other of cloth, a seminary student, continued to push re-dial on his Samsung. His efforts (albeit in vain) were to reach his fiancé, a TA at a local community college.
The lines went down five minutes ago.
The third man, a retired custodian sat in the back, sipping on the black over-boiled instant coffee. Everyone knew him, and knew he had long since lost his mind. He wasn’t much over fifty himself, but claimed he was one of the apostles, and insisted on doing the accounting for the church. He was calm, perhaps too calm, but in the havoc of the city, his companions did not notice.
The seminarian turned to his mentor, the panic behind his eyes apparent, a stark contrast to the calm expression of the other. “What do we do?”
Another explosion, this time from one of the power plants, and the city fell black. The mentor replied, his voice echoing in the dark room. He didn’t answer Nate, but turned to the older man, Judas. “Would you go see if we still have bread and rolls in the kitchen? And if so, bring it up, the juice as well. It doesn’t matter if it’s apple or grape. Bring all of it.”
The car alarms outside started to blare, only slightly quieter than the tornado sirens which started a few moments before.
“Nathan, go to the red hymnals, and start open it up to page 521. We are going to serve communion.”
“To who?”
“Whom. And each other for now, then, whoever decides to find refuge.”
After all, the apocalypse makes believes of everyone.
Nathan Anderson
OC
891
[okay, set up: I haven’t slept this week very well, and so when I saw this, I thought WHY THE FUCK NOT have Nate in a SPN verse-ness thing since he already is BFF’s with Judas from JCS2000. This will only exist for this prompt and subsequent prompts that occur due to a lack of sleep in the future.
Also, please be aware that all the news reporters ARE real, and not images of my imagination and I borrow their image with the up-most respect to them.]
Wire in a fire, representing seven games, a government for hire and a combat site. / Left of west and coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck. / Team by team reporters baffled, trumped, tethered cropped. / Look at that low playing! / Fine, then. / Uh oh, overflow, population, common food, but it'll do. / Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed dummy with the rapture and the revered and the right - right. / You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched. / It's the end of the world as we know it. / It's the end of the world as we know it. / It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.'>
“This is Karen Fuller with KCTV 5 and we interrupt your current TV programming with a Live Action Update. We go to Jeane Kiesling with our first alert action team for more coverage.”
The TV cut to an image of a very disassembled looking reporter, if one didn’t know better, it could even be assumed that she was wearing an evening gown, the V-Cut showing off more than her average work-day attire. Her hands shook as she held her bright blue microphone, the other held folders over her head, protecting herself from what appeared to be grey snow falling from the sky. This was odd, for while most of the continental US had been experiencing heavy snow falls (even Dallas had a few scant inches) the Kansas City area had yet to see anything beyond flurries, which in all reality, could be mistaken for a chilly summer rain.
“Thank you Karen, this is Jeane down at fifty first and Troost where something unbelievable has just occurred. We have reports that a single white, unarmed man walked into the Porsche Café and used nothing more than his mind to kill upwards of two dozen customers. It is then said that he subsequently set the entire block ablaze-“
The screen cut back to Karen, with her bleached out teeth, who was being handed another set of papers.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you Jeane, but we just got reports that there is a rampage in Ottawa and Lawrence Kansas on both University Campuses, we go to Eric Chaloux for more coverage”
The screen cut to an equally hastened clean cut man, his typically gelled hair pushed back, as if he had spent the last few moments running his hands through it. “Thank you Karen, this is Erick with action-“
He didn’t even complete his introduction, and the screen cut back to the news room. This time to the meteorologist Katie Couric, who skipped her intros, (for all of the KCK and KCMO area knew Katie) and started to highlight various parts of Eastern Kansas and Western Missouri, the rainbow of colors spreading as far south as Oklahoma and Arkansas, and as far north as Nebraska and Iowa.
“The National Weather Service is issuing Tornado. Flood, and Earthquake warnings for the following counties. Platte, Buchanan, Clinton, Clay, Jackson, Lafayette, Johnson, Cass, Saline…” She continued to list all the counties of Missouri, west to east, before starting on Kansas. “Wyandott, Johnson, Douglass, Leavenworth, Jefferson, Miami, Franklin, Linn…”
She was not cut off, though eventually the teleprompter gave up, and started to list them on the bottom. It was safe to assume however, that if you lived in the mid-west, your county was listed.
“There has been fourteen reported touchdowns, and a point six was recorded on the richtor scale…”
The TV that all this was showing on, the voices blaring through the side panel speakers, the images flickering, it was not on a wall, or even on a TV stand. But, instead, this TV, this pool of false calm, laid on its side, in the back room of St. Mark’s Methodist Church. Three men paced the room, one, in his late fifties was praying and taking notes and preparing a sermon at the same time. The other of cloth, a seminary student, continued to push re-dial on his Samsung. His efforts (albeit in vain) were to reach his fiancé, a TA at a local community college.
The lines went down five minutes ago.
The third man, a retired custodian sat in the back, sipping on the black over-boiled instant coffee. Everyone knew him, and knew he had long since lost his mind. He wasn’t much over fifty himself, but claimed he was one of the apostles, and insisted on doing the accounting for the church. He was calm, perhaps too calm, but in the havoc of the city, his companions did not notice.
The seminarian turned to his mentor, the panic behind his eyes apparent, a stark contrast to the calm expression of the other. “What do we do?”
Another explosion, this time from one of the power plants, and the city fell black. The mentor replied, his voice echoing in the dark room. He didn’t answer Nate, but turned to the older man, Judas. “Would you go see if we still have bread and rolls in the kitchen? And if so, bring it up, the juice as well. It doesn’t matter if it’s apple or grape. Bring all of it.”
The car alarms outside started to blare, only slightly quieter than the tornado sirens which started a few moments before.
“Nathan, go to the red hymnals, and start open it up to page 521. We are going to serve communion.”
“To who?”
“Whom. And each other for now, then, whoever decides to find refuge.”
After all, the apocalypse makes believes of everyone.
Nathan Anderson
OC
891