milk comes at a price.
Watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the water, caught him in a conflict. His initial reaction was to think he had to jump in after the man, the fool obviously could not swim and was effectively dying somewhere there at the bottom of the channel. Countering this initial reaction was the fact he did not want to - based on the fact that the man had seemed hostile and without logic.
The bubbles stopped coming and a chill ran down his back, cognizant that he had just let a human being die and he had done nothing! He shifted a bit nervously, and looked around to see if anyone had seen him in his omission to help. Obviously there was none, as it was after all the end of the world and there was a general shortage of people anywhere.
After a good 10 min he got himself out of the mental web that he had tumbled into and managed to get his body moving on over the bridge. He strolled down the now so expansive looking Amager Boulevard - heading for the very heart of Copenhagen.
The world had been very troubled for the last decade or so, but Copenhagen had kept it peaceful, while other nations dissolved into near anarchy as the time for evacuation drew closer. So the city was still intact and the pride the Danes had in their city was such that although they were all certain that there was no chance that the place would survive, they had kept the streets swept and the buildings clean up to the very last days. He stopped in front of a bus-stop, with it's glass framed advertisement.
"DANES COLONY ON PLANET DELTA SECURED!"
It said in large red letters, underneath the title stood the last PM, Jørgen Steengaard in a blue-pin-striped suit and a wide grin. The message below said in white fat letters: "VOTE JØRGEN STEENGAARD FOR COLONY DK PM." He smiled, he had voted for him and he had won - nevertheless he had an urge to vandalize the poster, but realized as he saw his haggered reflection, that none would see his work and figured it pointless.
Man, did he wish that he had made it with everybody else to Planet Delta. The voyage there would take the population about 3 years - 3 years of travelling at top speed through the dark of space with no pit-stops. He had been following the whole development and the political debates on just how an entire planet's population would be evacuated. Earth was estimated to encounter its demise in the span of the next year, according to the brightest of minds and their algorithms and what not. He knew that none would be coming back and he knew for sure that he was doomed to perish with the planet. The carrier-spaceships sent off were not built for changing trajectory, they were locked in on the direction needed to arrive at planet Delta and that was the entire design off it. Even if after the ship arrived three years into the future and someone decided to circle back and look for survivors on Earth, then that would add another 3 years, meaning 6 years in total and considering that doom was calculated to happen within a year: he knew that he was pretty royally screwed.
He came by a 7/Eleven, its doors had been blocked with stacks of street construction equipment that someone had, most likely in a binge of drinking, pilled up, as it was collected in the imitation of a tent. He went around the corner of the shop - the main entrance was the only entrance. It struck him that he was acting oddly like the good citizen he used to be, but was there any point in being a good citizen when there no longer was any civilization there? Having found a few cobble-stones he stood a distance back and began tossing the small bastards at the glass, bit by bit the glass shattered and broke off in pieces. Just when his arms had gotten so tried that he did not think he could muster another throw, a chunk off it fell off and - voila - he had a small entrance he could crawl in through. Pushing away the shards of glass he got in on his hands and knees. He scuttled over to the cooler - it was still cool! He frantically searched through the racks of beverages until his fingers found a carton of milk! It was cold! He laughed out loud and popped off the plastic lid - he stuck his nose in and took a wiff - it smelled fine! Joyously he turned it 180 vertically and let the cool cold milk flow. One swallow, two swallows - ahhhh - three swall- He gagged and fell onto his knees - he could not breath! He tried to cough, but could not! He looked around wildly for some answer on the shelves of snacks - chocolate bars could not help him now. He fumbled around and tried to hit his throat, that just hurt! He tried to perform a Heimlich Maneuver by punching himself in the gut - nothing changed! He was getting lightheaded, the pressure in his head was building dangerously and the panic was coming close to tipping over into full-on despair. He tried to stand but toppled and fell onto the floor flat. He could not get up! He realized that he was about to die right there, right then - the victim of milk. A tear snuck out from his left eye and he went from despair to apathy - maybe this was the way he dies- Someone hit him hard on his back! Again! And Again! Someone was stomping him! In his bewilderment he stupidly wondered why someone would attack a dying man. A final heavy foot came down hard on the middle of his back, pain shot through his spine and chest - a fist-full sized chunk of mucus-like milk-gone-bad shot out from his mouth and splattered on the gray floor, like a slimy ball of mozzarella.
"Hva' fa'en har du gang i knægt?" a rough voice said. Still wheezing he rolled over on his back and caught sight of what could only be an old haggered bum with a gray frazzled beard that stuck out in all directions.
The bum had spoken danish and a censored English version of his question would sound something like this: "Hello boy. What are you doing?"
He stood up quick and wiped the milk from his chin.
The bum assumed he did not speak danish as he had not answered and switched over to a broken English. "HELLO. WHO FUCK ARE YOU? THIS MY HOUSE YOU KNOW."
He felt like a little kid being told off.
"I am Jonas - I just wanted some milk and-" he started, the bum shook his head and pulled out a knife from his jacket-pocket.
"Fandens osse! IT WAS RETORICAL QUESTION - NOW YOU GET OUT!" The bum took a step forward and Jonas spun on his feet in panic and ran, smashing right into the side of shelf. Pain shot through his eye-brow and his vision went black. Unconscious - his mind drifted to a place where he was sailing down a river of milk in a canoe.
NEW EPISODES OUT EVERY SATURDAY
OUT OF MILK - THE STORY-BLOG
Come over here and waste your time with the story of one who survived the end of the world, only to find first-world problems were still problems. Join us on this quest for more milk.
"OUT OF MILK - THE BLOG-STORY" Copyright 2019 AMADREAS MEDIA.