WHIMPER
[A story about the birds and the bees and the end of
the world as we know it.]
by Scott Lefebvre
It was the year
the bees died.
But first it was
the bats.
But no one cared
about the bats because they dismissed the scientific evidence by ignorantly
indulging in the old analogy that bats are just rats with wings.
Or maybe mice.
But first it was
bats and then bees and then birds.
But people only
really started noticing when it was the bees.
Although it’s
true that bats devour tons, literally, tons of insects every year, most people
didn’t notice when entire colonies of bats died off.
Because most
people associate bats with vampires and Halloween and maybe in their heart of
hearts they didn’t really feel that badly about the dying of the bats.
I’m sure they
would feel differently if it was cats, but it was bats and they didn’t.
And those that
did feel badly about the disappearance of the bats watched helplessly.
The year the bats
died was the year before the bees died, but people only really noticed when the
bees died.
You see, bees
provide a service.
Aside from
helping to weed out those few people that are allergic to their stings, bees
also play an important part in the world.
Bees collect
pollen to make honey and various other bee byproducts, and while going about
their business they carry pollen from flower to flower which cross-pollinates
the flowers, which is how flowers have sex as near as I can figure.
The bees and the
flowers have developed a delicate inter-dependence.
Without the bees,
the flowers can’t have sex, and there wouldn’t be any more flowers.
Or at least not
nearly as many flowers.
Flowers might not
seem very important in the grand scheme of things, until you stop and think
about how almost every fruit begins as a flower on a tree.
Apple
blossoms. Orange blossoms. Cherry blossoms.
You get the idea.
When the wild
bees started to die, the few people who made their living being beekeepers were
very busy.
Farmers paid the
beekeepers to bring their bees to their fields to collect pollen from their
flowers, thusly helping the flowers to have sex and make fruit.
But there weren’t
enough bees to go around.
So that year there
wasn’t as much fruit as there would usually be, and what little there was, was
scarce and went for inflated prices in accordance with the rules of supply and
demand.
All of this
caused public outcry, and the people looked towards the people that knew about
such things and demanded to know why the bees were dying.
The people whose
field of expertise was bees mostly gave complicated answers, which, in layman’s
terms, basically meant that they didn’t know why the bees were dying.
Every now and
then one of them would compare the dying of the bees to the death of the bats,
but that footage was edited together to make the person seem eccentric.
People didn’t
care about the bats, they cared about the bees, and they didn’t want to be
reminded about the bats because they were already in a bad mood because fruit
was scarce and expensive and someone, somewhere, had to have the answers.
And if it wasn’t
bad enough about the bees, then it was the birds.
Spring arrived as
it does every year, but this year when rosy-fingered dawn crept upon the
horizon, people didn’t hear the incessant chirping of chicks in the trees
outside their windows.
It felt like
February long after the weather had warmed, but still the days grew longer and
the birds were nowhere to be found.
There were no
robins. There were no blue jays.
There were none
of the miscellany of wild birds whose real names only avid bird-watchers knew.
In the cities
there were no pigeons, and the people that lived in the cities didn’t really
miss them, but subconsciously they noticed, and they knew that something wasn’t
right.
Every night on
the news, the talking heads would talk about the absence of the birds and the
bees, because no one cared about the bats.
Remember?
The birds and the
bees and the flowers and the fruit. But
not the trees.
The gist of it
was that the birds were sick and dying or dead.
The shells of
their eggs were too thin and most of their eggs didn’t hatch and those that did
hatch gave forth chicks that were too weak and sickly to survive so when the
old birds died, there were no new birds to replace them.
People started to
get the notion that maybe somehow we had accidentally done something very bad
and maybe we were being punished.
Around the world
those that believed in God thought that it was his doing.
Some of those
that believed very strongly thought that the man upstairs was sending us a
message.
That it was a
warning. That the end of times was
near. That the end was nigh.
And maybe it was a
warning, but it doesn’t seem fair to kill of all of the bats and birds and bees
because we had thoughtlessly taken everything for granted.
So without the
birds and the bees, the farmers were out of work.
There was no
fresh fruit. There were no fresh
vegetables.
Most people
didn’t really notice.
They were aware
that there was a problem, but so much of our food is artificial that the change
for most people wasn’t very drastic.
Except for those
that had made it their habit to eat mostly natural food.
And those people
are generally viewed as eccentric, so it’s fair to say that most people didn’t
notice.
The government
knew that without the raw ingredients used to make processed food that, in
time, even the processed food would run out.
People weren’t
scared. Not yet. But they were nervous, and people discussed
the whole thing in their daily conversations.
Small talk when you bumped into someone you knew in the hallway at the
office. Small talk with strangers while
waiting for the bus or the train or the plane.
At least they weren’t talking about sports, politics, or the
weather. Not that they weren’t talking
about sports, politics, and the weather, but they were talking about them less
now that they had something more important to talk about. Maybe they were spending the time that they
used to spend talking about terrorism and nuclear power and nuclear bombs and global
warming and worrying about the impending melting of the polar icecaps and
contemplating what the world would look like when sea level rose ten feet in
one year, talking about the bees and the birds and joking about what’s going to
happen when all of the food runs out.
Those that knew,
made “Soilent Green” jokes and felt smugly superior to those that didn’t get
the reference.
The Department of
Agriculture and the Food and Drug Administration secretly knew that the problem
was much worse than the average person suspected, but took great pains to not
let on how much worse things would get in order to not inspire the public to
panic and riot. Widespread civil
disobedience and martial law was something that the powers that be would like
to avoid if at all possible.
Scientists were
collected and sworn to secrecy and research was commenced and whenever someone
at the lab made a “Soilent Green” joke, everyone got the reference, but as time
went on, the jokes stopped being funny.
They all knew
that humans can survive on a minimum of water, protein, and a small amount of
vitamins and minerals which can, for the most part, be artificially
synthesized.
But who would
want to?
The supermarkets
became more and more picked over as time passed.
All of the good
stuff was gone and even the stuff that nobody usually wanted was becoming
scarce.
But you weren’t
worried.
When the bats all
died, you were one of the people that noticed and cared.
You’ve always had
a place in your heart for bats and vampires and Halloween.
The next year when you heard about the bees
dying, you knew that something was wrong and it would only get worse and you
wondered what would be next and you weren’t surprised when you heard about the
birds.
You had seen a
lot of movies about the end of the world.
Post-apocalyptic
films in which, in the absence of civil order, humanity devolved back into
savagery.
You had seen
“Soilent Green”.
You knew you
didn’t want to have to get in line and wait to be issued government rationed
food stuff that looked and tasted like play-doh.
So you stocked up
before most people realized that there was something wrong.
You bought dozens
of cases of Chef Boyardee and Ramen Noodles and stacked them up in your
basement.
You figured even
if it wasn’t the end of the world, it was a good idea to have them anyway, just
in case, and you’d get around to eating all of it eventually.
You had a friend
that was in the Army Reserves and one weekend you drove up to the barracks and
he helped you load a pallet of M.R.E.s onto the back of your pick-up truck.
The military has
a habit of overspending and no one would probably notice, and even if they did
notice they wouldn’t care.
It’s not like
it’s their money.
Well, it is, but
it isn’t. It’s government money. So who cares?
When the
supermarkets ran out of stuff, they closed and locked their doors.
All of the
supermarket people were out of work because they ran out of food to sell, and
the truck drivers were out of work, because there was nothing to bring to the
supermarket, because the farmers were out of work, because there wasn’t any
food to farm, because there weren’t any bees to cross-pollinate the crops.
The government
instituted a program.
Everyone received
a ration card and were issued rations.
Your ration cards
were distributed according to the last number of your social security number,
which, in turn, determined which day of the week you were allowed to show up
and wait in line to get rations at the government appointed distribution
center.
The media was
instructed to make it sound like the rationing was universal and voluntary and
necessary.
The television announcers
tried to sound upbeat when they would read the teleprompter which fed them a
comparison to the rationing of the war effort during the world wars but no
matter how hard they tried, the look in their eyes was most decidedly not
light-hearted.
They were just as
scared as everyone else was, but they didn’t want to criticize the government.
They didn’t want
to bite the hand that fed them.
They comforted
themselves at night by reassuring themselves that they were doing their part to
help, and that unnecessarily panicking the public would serve no purpose, and
they thought about all of the wonderful foods that were no longer available and
tried to pretend to themselves that they weren’t scared that those wonderful
foods would never be available again, and eventually they fell asleep. Just like everyone else.
But everyone knew
that rich people still had plenty of food.
Everyone knew
that there was steak and lobster to be had, but not by them, and everyone
complained about it but nobody did anything about it.
Eventually, even
the stockpiles of generically packaged cheese and rice and macaroni and cheese
ran out, but the government knew that this would happen and they were prepared.
An announcement
was made that there was a solution, and everyone was made aware of the fact
that humans can survive on a minimum of water, protein, and a small amount of
vitamins and minerals, which can, for the most part, be artificially
synthesized.
A protein-based nutrient
was being produced but no one really thought too long or hard about where the
protein was coming from.
Except the people
that researched and designed it, and they were being taken care of by the
government and still had good food to eat, and didn’t have to eat the
protein-based nutrient and didn’t want to risk their personal comfort by making
too much noise about it.
The birds may
have all died and the cows had all already been turned into food.
But there were
still horses.
And cats and dogs
and rats and mice and elephants.
The pet shops and
the animal shelters and the zoos closed and then all of those people were out
of work too, but by then people were more worried about food than work.
People were
getting sick.
Those that were
the most likely to have a predisposition to illness weren’t receiving adequate
nutrition and they were getting sick.
Colds and flus
became pneumonia.
If you cut
yourself, it took much longer to heal.
The social
mechanisms designed to handle the deceased were overwhelmed and conventional
burial was discontinued, replaced by a newly created governmental system for
the disposal of the dead.
The system had a
few problems when it was begun, but it quickly adapted to meet the new demand,
and no one really worried about where all of the dead people were going if they
weren’t being buried, because they were too worried about their own destiny and
distracted by the constant growling of their stomachs.
The protein-based
nutrient continued to be produced and distributed and those that didn’t die
from illnesses brought on by weakened immune systems lived on as best they
could.
The protein-based
nutrient continued to be produced and distributed even after all of the animals
were gone.
We really should
have known better.
Wasn’t mad cow
disease caused by cows that were fed with food that contained ground up cows?
People started to
act weird.
Surviving on
protein-based nutrient and water and an artificially synthesized nutritional
supplement of vitamins and minerals, everyone was tired all of the time.
People didn’t
have any energy, and although they hadn’t lost the will to live, they lost
their lust for life.
Then people
started dying.
Sure it’s true
that living on the brink of starvation, everyone was in poor spirits and those
that were predisposed to depression and suicidal thoughts were that much more
likely to decide to end their own lives, but that wasn’t the reason that people
started dying.
On the news, the
announcers announced that millions of people were dying, but they weren’t
really dying, they were just getting really sick and instead of dying they just
looked like they were dead.
And maybe they
had died, but they were still breathing and moving and if they were dead it was
a death unlike any we had ever known.
And they stopped
showing up for their rations, which didn’t worry the people that hadn’t died,
but not died, because there was precious little to go around, and they figured
since they hadn’t died it wasn’t their problem.
Those that still
had jobs, made jokes at work about zombies, those that didn’t know who George
Romero was soon knew exactly who he was, but after a while they stopped making
jokes because it’s not funny anymore when it happens to someone you know or
someone you love.
But you weren’t
that upset, because your parents had died before this whole thing happened, and
although you have a few friends, everyone was too busy surviving to really
worry about anyone else, and the one person you ever truly loved decided that
they didn’t love you as much as you loved them, and they went to college, and
they moved away and married someone else, last you heard.
You call that one
person, “The One That Got Away”, and every now and then you think about them
and you wonder how they are and you wonder if they’re dead and that’s about the
only time you ever get a little sad, but you smoke another cigarette and the
sadness goes away.
One day you get
up and walk to work.
On the way to
work, you realize how quiet it is without the birds and planes flying overhead
and without cars and other vehicular traffic on the streets.
Gas has been
rationed like everything else, and only governmental vehicles are allowed to
use the roadways and even those are heard less and less frequently.
Those people that
aren’t dead, or are dead but not dead, are so malnourished and exhausted that
they spend most of their time in bed.
The sound of
children playing is now something you remember but do not hear.
You get to work
and the doors are closed and no one’s there.
No one called you
to let you know not to bother coming in and you almost let yourself think that
there wasn’t anyone left to call you but you stash that thought into the back
of your mind for some later day because you don’t want to think those thoughts.
Not yet.
The TV doesn’t
have live shows anymore.
There are no
studio audiences.
It’s just reruns of
sitcoms and news updates and even then the news updates aren’t delivered by
people anymore. It’s just a station
identification card with information scrolling across the bottom.
All of the
production assistants are too sick, or dead, to go to work.
There’s no one
left to make TV.
This doesn’t
really bother you, because you never really watched TV anyway, preferring
instead to watch movies from your collection.
You’re proud that
you thought ahead and got lots of food and cigarettes before the shit hit the
fan and since you eat fairly well you’re not as sick and tired and dead as
everybody else.
One night you’re
watching a movie and the power goes out.
All of the
generators in the basements of the stores kick in and the city is filled with
the sound of alarms, but you’re not worried.
The power has
gone out before and you know what to do.
Nothing.
Just hang tight
and wait for the power to come back on.
You go to bed
early that night because it’s dark and reading by candlelight makes you sleepy.
You wake up the
next morning and the power isn’t back on, but you can still hear the store
alarms going off in the distance and for a second you think that maybe they’re
still going off because there’s no one that cares enough to go and reset them.
Or maybe there’s
no one left to go and reset them.
And even though
you’ve always said that you hate people you feel a chill in the back of your
neck and you shudder, but you shake it off and open a can of beefaroni for
breakfast.
The power doesn’t
come back on the next day. Or the day
after that.
You adapt.
Doing what you
have to do by light during the day or in the early evening by candlelight.
Weeks go by and
the store alarms die out, one by one, retiring from the discordant chorus and
when you wake up one day and feel that something’s missing and realize that
what’s missing is that the last store alarm has died out, you realize that your
cell phone hasn’t rung for weeks and you shrug and make a non-committal face to
yourself.
You wonder what
happened, but you don’t want to go into the city, because there’s smoke on the
horizon.
You imagine the
city on fire, and for a minute you’re excited and you’re almost overcome by the
urge to walk to the city and check it out.
But then you
think of what a long walk it is, and what a pain in the ass that would be.
But then you
remember that you still have a car and you probably have enough gas to get to
the city and back, but you check yourself, telling yourself that maybe you’d
better save that gas because maybe someday you’ll need it.
When and for what
you don’t think too hard about.
Because that’s
not the real reason you don’t want to go and watch the city burn.
You know that
somewhere out there, there are millions of people that are dead, but not dead,
and you almost laugh when you think, “undead” because that’s for zombies and
vampires, right?
But the dead walk
the earth, and they’ve got to be surviving on something, and up till now,
nobody knows you’re out here, alone, with a lifetime supply of food.
So you think that
you’d be better off leaving well enough alone.
You spent so much
of your life feeling disappointed by other people and you really don’t mind
being alone and the quiet is quite relaxing.
In fact, you
can’t remember when you’ve felt so relaxed.
Maybe this is
just what you needed.
Every now and
then you miss what was, but it passes and you think about it less and less as
weeks become months become years.
Then, one night,
you realize that you haven’t been keeping track of the time, and you’re reckoning
the passage of time by the passage of the seasons.
You furrow your
brow and wonder if that seems right.
Then you take a
deep breath and let it out slow and accept it.
Accept
everything.
You think maybe
this is what was meant to be.
You stop fighting.
You’ve been
fighting all of your life and it feels wonderful to finally let it all go.
You smile to
yourself and close your eyes and before you drift to sleep you remember.
A part of a poem
that they forced you to read and try to interpret in school.
You resented it
at the time, but now that you’ve accepted everything, even your resentment has
faded like the petals of a flower in the pages of a book on the dust-laden shelves
of an abandoned library.
Unattended. Unmourned.
Unremembered.
You remember the
fragment from the poem.
And in your mind
you repeat the lines to yourself as you fall asleep.
“This is the way
the world ends
This is the way
the world ends
This is the way
the world ends
Not with a bang
but a whimper.”