Disaster Among the Heavens by Don E Peavy Sr (electronic book reader txt) 📕

her husband was staring at his plate and did not notice them.
“Ma, I see my Jimmy Dean sausage, my Aunt Jemima grits, my homemade biscuits and gravy and my fresh squeezed orange juice. I even see my Maxwell House Coffee. But where’s my eggs?”
Ma moved from the stove closer to the table. She batted her eyes again and answered, “Ain’t none, Pa. Not a single egg this morning.”
For the first time since sitting down, Pa looked up from his plate. “What’s ya mean no eggs? Ya mean ta tell me outta 140 chickens not a single god blasted egg?”
“That’s right, Pa. Not a single egg.” His wife batted her eyes even more.
“Ya don’t think it’s that new Avon parfum you been wearing do ya, Ma?”
“C’mon Pa. You know Avon is the best. I told ya we should’ve moved away like everyone else. It’s that darn Army base again.”
“It’s Air Force, Ma. Where’s the butter? Pa looked around the table. There was neither butter nor milk.
“No eggs, no butter, no milk, Pa.” Ma batted her eyes even more.
“Maybe I better go see for maself.” Pa got up from the table and went outside. Ma followed him.
“If tat don’t beat all!” he exclaimed as he saw the ominous cloud hovering over the Cheyenne Mountain. He pulled his wife into the house and went to the telephone. It was dead.
He then heard a thunderous explosion from outside. He and Ma ran together to the front porch to see all of their chickens, hogs, cattle and horses rushing toward the farmhouse. They had busted out the sides of the barns and crashed through the corral. Pa looked up in bewilderment at his wife’s new eyelashes. It was the last thing he saw before he and she were trampled under hoofs.
The stampede continued into and over the farmhouse. It collapsed and great was the fall of it! However, since none were present but these beasts of burden and they were of another mind, the Commissioners debated at length whether the crash made a sound.
. . .
The President fell into his chair behind the desk in the Oval Office. The report to which he was listening added tons of weight to the heavy burdens which already weighted down his shoulders. His legs gave way and into his chair he fell. He motioned for those in the room with him to leave. All complied and moved out of the room swiftly. Two secret service agents stood watch at the door to prevent anyone from disturbing The President.
It is said that God does not give one more than one can bear. If such is true, then God must think a lot of The President. For this man’s burdens could rival those of Atlas. Moses, even in the face of a disgruntled mass and a disruption of nature, could not have been as burdened as The President now found himself.
Here was a man who had proven to be a capable leader, a public servant, and a true visionary who symbolized all that is supposed to be great for America. Surely he had come from humble beginnings and even now could not afford to live as lavishly as had some of his predecessors. He served his state and now his country with distinction. And what were his rewards: whispers of disgust and inadequacy and charges of being an accidental president.
He lived, worked, and played in the shadow of the young knight from Massachusetts. Try as he would, he could not escape being compared to his most immediate predecessor and found lacking. In vain, he hoped his election as president after finishing out the term of one cut down so soon would dispel the rumours and dissipate the shadow. It had not. People now added to his epithets that he had won the election on a sympathy vote.
No wonder that he seldom left the White House these days. He found it increasingly difficult to face the jeers and the rumours and the violent demonstrations against a war he inherited and now racial violence. Why don’t they blame him? He would often ask himself – he could not bear to say the name. With all that foreshadowed him and compressed him about, he had to listen to the most disheartening of news.
The President leaned forward and propped his head up on his hand which rested on top his desk. With the other hand he rubbed his thinning hair and then his rugged face.
“Mr. President, are you there? General Shannon on line one,” came the voice from the intercom.
“Yea, uh, yes, I’m here,” answered The President as he picked up the receiver.
“What about the missiles?” asked The President who dismissed with formalities and pleasantries. “Are they still intact? Good. What about that cloud?”
He laid his head down on his hand which was now flat on the table and held the telephone with his other hand. He spoke again into the receiver, “Look Shannon, I want you to contain the situation.... You say it contains nuclear waste material? I want you to get rid of that cloud and fast. I don’t care what it takes – get rid of it!”
The President sat up and leaned back in his chair. He tried to raise his feet and prop them on his desk but could not get them to cooperate.
“Shannon, can I depend on you? Okay, good luck and keep me advised. We can do this. We must do this.”
The President hung up the telephone. He stared straight ahead. Fear and trembling took hold of him at the thought of having to make the journey to the home of the wife of the General of the Air Force and break yet another heart. At present, the strength he needed to accomplish his task escaped him.
He sat there and stared straight ahead wondering why history, time, fate, God, or whoever or whatever governs the universe had dealt him so terrible a hand. Unlike poker which he loved to play, he could not throw in his hand and hope for a better one on the next deal. There would be no more deals! When this hand was over, he would go the way of his fathers.
The President was glad his wife and daughters were not there to see him in such a state of distress. For the only time in his life he was glad he did not have a son. How could he leave a son such an inheritance? He would be glad that his name would end with him and there would be no further offspring to suffer in the shadows as he had to do.
The President closed his eyes. Soon he found himself walking over to the window overlooking the East Lawn and pulling back the curtains to behold a number of spectacles. What wonders they were. People of all races, creeds, nationalities and colors and sexes were walking merrily hand-in-hand. Many others danced around a giant statute of, wait, could it be? Yes, there in the centre of the lawn was a giant statute of The President. The people placed beautiful bouquets of flowers at its base and some even stood silently and prayed. The statute reached into the heavens and people descended it on one side while angels ascended it on the other. There were no shadows, no rumours, no murmurings.
Tears began to trickle then flow from the eyes of The President as he awoke. He felt the strength returning to his legs. He stood up straight without assistance. His tears turned to laughter – loud guffaws of regeneration.
“Mr. President! Mr. President!” The two secret service agents burst into the room and ran over to where The President stood. They thought he might fall but The President raised his hand, halting them in their tracks.
The President reached down and flipped a switch on the intercom which alerted his Chief of Staff and commanded, “Get my crisis team in here right away!”
The Secret Service Agents were glad to see The President display signs of life again. Silently, they returned to their post at the door.
With renewed energy, The President now knew what he had to do. The message of his transfiguration now saturated his essence. He sat down at his desk, grabbed pen and paper and scribbled a poem to commemorate the light to which he had come:

Dark Day In Dallas
Fate finds ways to thwart
the destruction of man--
to prolong the ideal
long after the body has been
put to rest.
Thus it was – that on that
Dark Day in Dallas –
when destruction ran rampant
and many a head was bowed
and eyes watered –
where the flame of hope was
doused briefly by an
insignificant hand of terror.
There, amidst the darkness of despair
emerged the Light of the Great Society!
...
“What is his trip? Is he drunk, crazy or what?” shouted Diggs as the generators kicked on and pierced the darkness in which he and Fredda had been enveloped for what seemed like hours. The monitors also came on, one of which showed Rodney jumping up and down.
“Looks like he's trying to give us a message,” answered The Queen. She felt relieved at this sign of hope. She moved closer to the monitor and took hold of The Doctor's hand.
The Doctor looked into the soft yet deep eyes of Fredda and smiled. He pulled her closer to him and gave her a passionate side hug as they gazed on the excited Rodney. Neither of them could read his lips nor understand whatever message it was he was trying to convey. They reasoned that it was a far better message than the one they had received earlier that morning.
It was then they were locked in passion when they were suddenly thrown to the floor by a violent blast. Dust particles came through the door facing and then the room went dark – darker than ever Diggs and Fredda had seen it. The monitors went dead. The refrigerator stopped humming. There was nothing but silence and darkness.
The Doctor got up off the floor. He felt for Fredda with one hand while feeling for the bed with the other. Once they were sitting on the side of the bed, Diggs fumbled his way to the table where the first monitor and keypad were and found the Assistant’s cigarette lighter which he used to light some candles. He took six, gave Fredda six, and placed six around the radio and telephone. The latter was useless as he noticed the wires on both the radio and telephoned were fused together