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TITLE (EDIT)
Ersatz Jerry Cornelius |
DESCRIPTION
My short story take on one of my favorite Characters from one of my favorite authors, Michael Moorcock.
[743 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Fan Fiction |
AUTHOR
Potter Michael |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
- Same Person as Michael Potter, Mapblb@aol.com
Currently finishing a science fiction story.
[June 2007] |
Ersatz Jerry Cornelius
Potter Michael
Jerry was driving over the countryside easily at 120 km in his favorite car. Sure he liked the 1951 MG TD but his 1966 Jaguar XKE body with his design of turbine engine was luxurious, especially since most people had been driven back to using horses with the complete fuel shortage. The turbine was running well on Puerto Rican rum today. All though Jerry preferred yellow rum the car seemed to prefer white.
Jerry had the music up loud and was immersed in the sexaphonic speaker system of his own design, which he some how found sounded better than the octophonic system that he had tried earlier. In this case it seemed less was more, but perhaps 12 speakers would be twice as good. Oh, he still played the Beatles of course but he played other English music of that era now too. It was like a personal renaissance for him, a golden age that would live forever on the compact discs and his corresponding memories. Traffic and the lost innocence of the Moody Blues sounded good these days. The Fugs and Frank Zappa and even the Bonzo Dog Band sounded full of life amid the depressing challenges of tearing civilization. He liked the wooded area he was zipping through. Why not, he owned half of California now.
He had precipitated the changes of the earth's axis by one of his profuse experiments. This time he had been trying to harness the magnetic field of the earth into a giant electric generator based on a Tesla principle. The experiment had worked. He figured he had generated enough energy to power half the world, more than enough for England anyway, but the effects, among others, had changed the poles so that roughly England had become the North Pole and the Southern Pacific, the South Pole. He knew something had gone wrong when he felt the earthquakes. It had been too late to turn the machine off. A giant metal stake driven into the ground basically and simply ran it. When his crane fell over in the earthquake he could not pull the stake out to stop the disaster. Remembering the stories of how the woolly mammoths were quick-frozen in the last pole change, he dashed into the rocket, which was disguised as a tower of his building and made off for the upper atmosphere.
When the earth quit shaking and the tidal waves had subsided and the earth had realigned itself to stability he came back down to earth and settled in what was once northern California, which was now in the temperate zone of the southern hemisphere. He had built up supplies and had settled in an old fortress, though that was hardly necessary as the few people that were left were extremely docile. It was funny to Jerry that they all had these basic guilt feelings. It was like their past errors, or 'sins' as they called them had caused the great catastrophe so now they were all being very god worshipful. A rather primitive movement, Jerry considered, though logical in the face of the great shock. But life had come to that, Jerry knew what primitive was, he had been raised in the big city with the wretched and the despised. He knew the worst things about humanity, many of them first hand, but that was past.
Driving through the devastated countryside he observed that people had it better, they could start over, be good to each other this time around. There was just one thing that disturbed Jerry, what would he do if he ran out of Dexedrine? Sometimes he missed the finer things of London, like smoking a mild but blissful hashish with a polymorphos perverse woman or two, maybe with a man thrown in. No use recalling the past, he was kind of burned out on people anyway. He had had enough of their squabbling demands long ago. But perhaps responsibility for the world crises fell heavier on his shoulders than he could consciously feel.
He was smoking some of the local sensamilla as he drove, picking up speed going around the corners to keep the challenge up. He was cutting them to the inside, crossing the lines, but mostly trying to stay in the middle of the road, there was no traffic, this was his private driveway road, a part of High Way One that he had cleaned himself, it was one of his few recreations.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2007 Potter Michael |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
June 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1692
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