The God Complex: The Book Of Alan, Destroyer Of Worlds

Chapter Two

All Gabe ever wanted was someone to go on adventures with. He had one once, actually he had three. It was all planned. Funny how it never works out the way you think.

Each morning, Gabe woke at his alarm and fumbled his way out of bed where the weight of his own indifference would topple him backwards. He'd rest there a while until he felt confident he could nail it at the second attempt and then lunge for his bathrobe. Once covered, he'd begin his pious shuffle to the bathroom - a path so well-trodden it was a wonder he hadn't started to erode the carpet - he made a point of always passing the mirror without so much as a glance, he wasn't ready for that yet. You should never look at yourself that early in the day, the human spirit is such a fragile thing, at least give yourself a fighting chance of making it past breakfast.

The morning shuffle continued past the standard beige walls of the standard, rented, beige flat, in the uniform grey tower block that peppered the east London suburb where he lived, instantly stifling any form of creative or independent thought, which was a good thing, he wasn't ready for that yet either. Despite humanity standing on the brink of destruction for more than a decade there hadn't been a sniff of civil upheaval in years. Now Gabe thought about it, he defied anyone to stand in a beige hallway and summon the sort of raw, heaving emotion that angers the blood so badly they're compelled to write a succinct, rhyming criticism on cardboard and take it screaming onto the streets. That sort of anarchy has 'Redcurrant Glory', 'Raspberry Diva' or 'Lethargic Salmon' written all over it, and frankly the good people of Dulux should be ashamed of themselves. There was clearly a lot to be said for beige hallways and apathy, yet Gabe simply couldn't summon the energy to say it.

Kettle on, he subconsciously placed the cup, spoon and coffee granules together on the counter ready for when his conscious took over. This hour of the morning required teamwork. Standing back, he leaned against the kitchen counter and heard himself exhale. This was by far and away the best part of his day: the three minutes waiting for the kettle to boil before his brain woke up, switched out of rote and left him with only his thoughts for company. The silence was golden.

Click. The sound of inevitability.

It was strong, sweet, and tasted mostly like a coffee flavoured liquid. The packet had one of those names like 'Diablos Revenge', 'Rocket fuel' or 'Granulated Get-up-and-go' that suckered him in every time. Bought in the vain hope there was a brand of coffee strong enough to act as a surrogate to his own whimpering motivation. Maybe next time. He stood in his kitchen with his coffee and waited, not for anything specific, he just waited because it felt nice to wait: the peace and solitude comforted him in a way that was difficult to explain. From the bedroom, he heard the familiar light shuffle of feet and the door to the bathroom click. He leaned over and took out her favourite mug, placed it on the counter and dropped a teabag in it. He never understood people who made the conscious choice to start the day with tea; people who didn't need to mainline the strongest caffeine solution they could find into their system just to be able to function. It was the end of days, for crying out loud, where's your sense of occasion? But then, there was a lot about Tiffany he didn't understand. He knew once the toilet flushed, she'd come skipping out of there, all sun shining and full of energy, the perky shrew. His brief moment of mindless tranquillity was nearing its end, so he concentrated on steeling himself for the task ahead: basic human interaction.

'Morning babes!' chirped Tiffany

He handed her a mug of tea and forced a smile.

'Ah and in my favourite mug, you know how much I love this mug and it always just makes the tea taste so much better, don't you find?'

He forced a second smile.

'Oh my God have you seen the news? It's like the biggest earthquake yet. Wiped out like, the whole continent or something. Isn't that awful? It's like, the actual end of the world. I've never seen Dominique look so sombre, he was like, dressed from head to toe in black chiffon and looked fabulous, don't you think? Ah, look at the time, I'm already running late.'

He exaggerated a closed-eye nod in her direction. It was all the motivation she needed to skip back into the bedroom.

He took a moment to make sure any excess energy had left the room and turned on the television. He hadn't seen the news. He'd stopped watching some time ago when it became official that life was circling the drain. The end was coming and for Gabe it couldn't come soon enough. It also didn't help that there was now only one news channel available: S News, and it wasn't exactly what you'd call impartial.

S News was the jewel in the crown of Serpentine Media, which after a series of aggressive takeovers and too many beige hallways in the monopolies and mergers commission made them the only media company left in existence. They were the news, and the face of that news was Dominique: the vacuous yet statuesque news anchor who spent most of his time looking 'fabulous' apparently. Dominique was currently gesticulating wildly in front of a green screen depicting various recreations of the horrific event from every angle. In fairness, he did look pretty fabulous.

He was still quietly staring at the headline when Tiffany kissed him goodbye on the cheek and walked him towards the door, her sunglasses and Fedora covering her pale blue eyes. One curl of her sandy blonde hair hanging purposefully down the side of her slender face. 'Pretty bad huh?' she said vacantly before pausing. 'It can't be long before something like that happens over here. Total annihilation...' She paused again and glazed over a little as she stared reflectively into his eyes. 'Oh, and don't bother cooking for me tonight, I'm at that work event so I won't be back till late, and please don't forget to take out the recycling, I hate it when it just sits there like that, and babe, when are you going to ask work about that promotion? you've been there for like, years now, it's never going to happen unless you push for it.' She tried to smile delicately at him but all Gabe saw was a pained expression on her face. 'It's just that you used to be so driven. I don't understand why you can't be more like Rupert? He wears a suit and tie every day and he's been made head of our department. Just think about it, okay? Great! Have a good day at work, babe.'

As he closed the door behind her, he rested his head against the cold wood of the doorframe and sighed. 'Again with Rupert'.

Rupert was Tiffany's preferred stick to beat Gabe with, especially when she wanted to highlight how disappointing he was. He'd met Rupert a couple of times at her work social events. He was a nice enough guy: tall, clean shaven with a permanent self-assured smile stuck to his face, verging on smug. A real go-getter. Loved to talk in clichés and frequently took 'power lunches,' whatever they were.

To Tiffany he was the template that Gabe could have aspired to, so now she was making it the remainder of her life's work to mould Gabe into his image. Given how long was left, there hardly seemed much point.

He shuffled back into the kitchen to turn off the TV. The full horror of what happened that night continued to play out in front of Gabe's tired eyes. Each scene, a collage of grotesque destruction and abject horror in high definition. One solitary ticker-tape headline rolled like a freight train across the bottom of the screen:

"...ESTIMATE 6 MONTHS BEFORE EARTH STOPS, SPARKING EARTH'S DESTRUCTION: SCIENTISTS ESTIMATE 6 MONTHS BEFORE THE EARTH..."

'A good day at work?' he thought. 'Fat chance.'