"Sex without love is an empty experience... But, as empty
experiences go, it's one of the best."
Woody Allen, Love and Death
A REALLY BAD DAY
by Bryan Kennerley
Dallon sat slowly down upon the rock he had taken to be his
seat this longest night. The coldness rose from the stone
sending a chill throughout his entire body. His hand fell to
his sword, sheathed in his belt. He loosened it and it fell to
Slowly he surveyed the horizon, his eyes barely moving as he
took in the entire vista of his existance. He had never been
outside the boundaries of what he could now see and he knew that
he never would. Stories abounded of far off lands, of magical and
mystical creatures, of heroes and evil warlocks who could
cleave great rifts in the ground with a single wave of a hand.
Perhaps they were true. Perhaps not.
The sun was starting to set. Unnatural colours bounded across
the sky, the clouds a landscape in themselves, infinitely more
beautiful than the land as it was now, grey, barren,
marks of death and pestilence everywhere for all to see -
no matter how often the survivors turned their heads, trying
in desperation to avert their gaze from the memories of the
disasters that had befallen them, a new tombstone to their
civilisation would come into sight.
Here, high on a mountain top, Dallon sat, surveying what had
once been a thriving town, his town, where he was born, where he
married, where his son was born, where his bride and child had
died, leaving him alone. Alone. If only it was just his
family. Countless others had died when the first wave had
struck, a great wall of water, a mountain of doom racing out of
the east, sweeping away all they had built, all they had
known. A few survived, those who were in the hills, and they
were here still.
The impossibly strong wind buffetted against Dallon, trying
to remove him from his seat, but he sat firm. His long, dark
hair blew back from his face, bringing a clarity of thought that
he would much rather be without. It wouldn't be long now.
The sun hung low in the sky, reluctant to set, as if floating
on the tumultuous sea before him. A huge crack of lightning
split the sky apart but there was no rain. The moon glowed
serenely through the chaos, as if gloating from it's position
of calm and order, seeking the appropriate gap in the clouds
through which to watch, ghoulishly enjoying the suffering of
those who were to witness the end.
And then there was the second moon. The moon that had been in
the sky since early summer, growing in size as the terror of
the people increased, doubling as thousands died in the wave, and
doubling again as the survivors buried their loved ones. The
ones that were found. Dallon had thought for one hopeful,
but brief moment that as the people lost all that was theirs
to lose it would cease growing, deprived of it's food, but as
despair grew into resignation, so the harbinger in the sky grew
Those who were left had come to the mountain and sheltered
from the storms in the caves of their ancestors, their primitive
drawings still visible in the rockface. Countless generations
had died here, their bones still buried under this generation's
feet. One more would join them tonight. Some would watch as
their world was torn apart, others would cower in the caves,
praying for some miracle, hoping beyond hope that averting
their eyes would avert the catastophe. Others had already died,
or gone missing, of their own choosing.
The new moon now hung over the ocean, many times larger than
the sun. As he stared at it's brilliant surface, Dallon imagined
he could see oceans upon it, continents, trees, rivers, cities,
mountaintops. Mountaintops where people such as he were
sitting, looking back at him, anger and bitterness in their
eyes, sorrow seeping out in their teardrops, unimagineable
sadness gripping their heart. Except that the sadness was all
The wind was increasing now. Before long he would no longer
be able to hold his vantage point. But no, this monster
had taken everything he had ever known and there was no way
that it would now deprive him of his final stand. Reaching
down to his side, Dallon sought the handle of his sword. His
fingertips struck metal and his hand gripped the hilt with iron
determination. Rising to his feet, he held the sword above
his head in one last gesture of defiance and sank the blade deep
into the ground before him.
As the wind continued to grow and rain like pebbles thrashed
down around him, he gribbed the sword with all his might, Dallon
screamed at the storm, drawing energy from the depths of his
soul, but his voice went unheard above the roar of the
apocalypse. With a final surge, he forced his eyes open one
last time to see that which was his executioner carry out the
sentence. The moon filled the sky before him and, the
instant before it hit, breaking the planet in two, Dallon was
sure that he saw people on its surface, their faces frozen in one
final, voiceless scream.
The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.