The 5th Wave adaptation of 25002 Del Monte St., Laguna Hills, CA 92653
This story is probably for personal entertainment for the writer and his family members.
Well, days are normal. Usually.
Even on the day of 9/11, people lived normally. Almost nothing unimaginable. Yeah, terrorism. But we can comprehend what that is. Just a mere plane crashing into one of the tallest skyscrapers in the world. Bursting flames. A conflagration of people running to volunteer for the army or the police force. To my standards, for my standards as of now, that is totally normal.
I was in Mrs. Girardi’s hideous AP Calculus class when the first wave hit us. We half-expected such significant yet insignificant attack since the Mothership showed up about a week ago. We’ve known their existence for months, because we spotted the mothership heading to us through a Mars satellite. There were a lot of—probably tons of—speculations on why they are coming to us. Are they saying hello? Then why didn’t they send us a radio wave signaling their message—which will be billions of times faster than visiting us physically which is what they are doing right now. Are they invading us? Then why didn’t they just bomb us with their thousands of millenia ahead bombs?
What I believe to be true is that they are here to colonize or inhabit the Earth themselves. They need the planet. That’s why they have to clean up—clear up human populations—before they can be the masters of this planet.
With okay looks and not-too-bad a social ability and outstanding academics, I am a pretty peculiar student at the school. Usually as quiet as a moth, I linger around people and my “friend” groups rather than talk with them. Well, I thought I could respond logically and rationally, with cold-heart, to the alien invasion. I’ve read some alien books and seen some movies so I know how banal aliens invade the earth. They send some weird-looking, disgust-provoking drones or some squid-like machines to totally appall us. And then humans say, “What’s ya doin’? Ya want some hot human weapons?” And they gather around shooting the aliens down. Whoa! That’s so unique of an alien story, you know. But these aliens—the actual ones—appear to be quite intelligent, unlike those prosaic aliens. They had strategy to clean their new home of intelligent obstacles. Step one: turn of their technology. How did they do it? They simply shocked all the machines with super strong Electromagnetic Pulse, as if that is the simplest thing in the world. That was a big hit. But that so much when compared to the 2nd and the 3rd waves.
The 2nd was an avalanche of tsunamis. Unprecedented. Yet, still manageable with the human instinct of herding with others. I mean, not the Others, but the others—other humans. As a result, all humans camped very close to each other, packed into clusters of beehive-ish environment. You know, we should’ve known what would come next. All the history has been plagued by this. You know—the plague. A Red one. The Red Plague came just as a school of grasshoppers so voracious that it ate all humans except a very tiny fraction of human population. Actually, it left only the lucky 1%, who had immune to the disease.
Looking back, I feel like it was an obvious step. But back then it clearly wasn’t. Hindsight bias is its name. When you look back, you know what’ll happen and you wonder what the heck are these people doing? Are they stupid? But you are accusing the wrong people. They didn’t know. They were utterly perplexed and lost in their souls. Some ended their own lives. Some gathered into churches as asylum from the heathen world. Some called God is within us. His judgment has come or some gibberish.
As a devout atheist, or something like that, I did not believe that God can do this stuff even if he did exist. It was clearly too harsh. Another Noah’s Arc? No. Maybe the Others are the gods.
Day’s been gloomy. Bright skies. Bright misery. Dark skies. Darkening future.
I was in groups in a school lock-down when the mild First Wave hit us. Well, we lost almost all of our technology—at least temporarily. But it’s okay. Some 500,000 died. Airplane crashes. Mine collapses. Hospital ER deaths. Even this now-seemingly-mild wave was unprecedented. Humanity has never lost so much of its knowledge and strength in such a short time before. And I am a human. So I, with my classmates, slipped back to the 14th century. Under the imposing Hawk picture with a caption: “Home of the Hawks,” I almost felt excitement about this whole lock-down thing. Even if you are a nerd like me, you feel freed when you get out of the boredom of a teacher like Girardi. She really sucks, you know.
Surrounding all around me as a blanket are groups of teenagers, who I should call my acquaintances. I really don’t know anyone at school very well. Now, you are going you are a loner. Well, I guess I am. I am not the offering-the-hand-first type guy, nor had I been at the school for a long time. It was only 3 years and 4 months when the mothership appeared in the sky. Yasin, who is my closest friend, sits next to me, not feeling like talking. Simon of unstoppable talkativeness has stopped talking. I muster my dying energy to say something. “Guys, what do you guys think of this aliens?” Judging from Yasin’s bored look with a hint of annoyance signals that I’ve said something wrong.
“Well, they are bad niggas,” says Yasin, who likes to refer to all people as niggas.
“Justin, come on,” Simon adds. But those words don’t make sense to me as usual. Simon’s habit it is. To say come on at any time.
“Well,” I try to say something, but my mind has been vacuumed by the incomprehensible idea of the Others. I still can’t believe myself. That they exist. How could they? But things happen.
Sudden cacophony awakens me from the confused black hole of daydreaming. People are shouting something—to someone who has just walked in. The principal. He came to our school just this year, and has not earned our trust or popularity as did the last one who looked just like Homer Simpson. Mr. Hinds is the unpopular principal’s name. He, with tight face, declares through the noise of the scared crowd, “We believe that there has been an attack on our technologies by the visitors. And we assure you that everything’s gonna be okay.”
Well, that’ll nice. If things are gonna be okay.
“But we need you guys to quiet down and please stay quiet until your parents arrive to pick you up. It’ll take a while for them, but they will eventually—for you guys.”
So I guess we say good-bye to our friends. Forever? I’m pretty sure they are going to kill us all. Why else would they shut the technology off?
Cool, dry air is upon me, matching my mood of blue desertion. The semi-darkness of the gym somehow succeed to comfort me. It’s weird, because I hate darkness. A part of me believes by not seeing things you can somehow escape the situation. It’s very childish thought, I know, but I really want to believe in it. People tend to believe what they want to believe.