The Father of the World

One of the great ironies that still remained in the world was the simple fact that Mobius Richards hated children. When he was a child himself, he often sought refuge from his schoolmates, hiding out in quiet, under-utilized corners of cafeterias and libraries. During those formative years, he loathed every one of the forced interactions he had with others his age, instead preferring the company of teachers or janitors, principals or crossing guards, and, when no adult was available or willing to indulge him, he preferred to be left alone with his thoughts, thoughts he deemed too mature for the likes of children. And as he grew older, his distaste for children never waned. He watched from a distance as those younger than him, the Final Generation, grew from infants to teens, and he secretly relished the impossibility of conceiving any children of his own.

So, when he received a knock on the door to his studio apartment late one night, Mobius expected nothing less than the blissful hedonism that had become rampant in his life--in everyone’s life--over the last decade. What he didn’t expect was Mariana and Abra on his doorstep together, Mariana chewing her thumbnail in nervous anticipation, Abra fumbling absently with the heart-shaped locket around her neck. Her dark eyes burned with excitement but her mouth was a flat line.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Mobius said with a smirk. He opened the door a little wider, a silent invitation, but the two women stood with feet rooted to the floor.

“Small world,” Mariana said.

“We have something to tell you,” Abra said, dropping her hand from the locket. Mobius paused for a moment, eyes darting back and forth between the two women. His smug grin widened to reach his pale blue eyes.

“I think I know,” he said. He turned to walk into the apartment, leaving the door open behind him.

“I highly doubt that,” Abra said as she followed him inside, Mariana on her heels. They sat on the small loveseat while Mobius rummaged through his kitchen cabinets. When he joined them, he brought three wine glasses and a bottle of red as dark as night.

“Don’t pour that,” Mariana said. “Don’t even bother opening it.”

“But this is a bottle of 1982 Lafite—”

“We’re pregnant,” Abra blurted.

Mobius stopped, his hands frozen on the corkscrew. He looked between the two, then chuckled halfheartedly.

“That joke might have worked twenty years ago,” he said, then continued working on the cork. When he finally removed it and began to pour, the tense silence made him freeze and look at the women sitting in front of him again. No humor lay behind their eyes. He set the bottle down with a heavy thud.

“This isn’t a joke,” Abra said. “We both took the test.”

“Five times,” Mariana added.

“No,” Mobius replied. “It’s impossible. Everyone knows that.” His mind flashed back to the news segment he watched with his parents when he was a teenager, remembering the news anchor’s solemn tone and watery eyes as she addressed the world.

A bomb detonated in the Pacific, 500 miles due north of Hawaii, she had said.

“We don’t know how,” Abra said.

The F-15 carrying the bomb was on a mission to test a new biological weapon...

“It’s a miracle,” Mariana said.

...the impact was unanticipated and the effects are now known to have been catastrophic...

“It’s impossible,” Mobius said again.

...with radiation from the explosion rendering all men infertile, leading scientists estimate humanity has approximately 124 years before extinction...

Mariana and Abra sat in silence as Mobius considered the situation. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“It’s the truth,” Abra said.

“Even if it is true, which it’s not, how do you know I’m even the one responsible? It could be a hundred different guys.”

“Lowest common denominator,” Mariana said, shrugging her shoulders.

“No. Get out,” Mobius snapped, his eyes steeling over. And with that, the two women stood, dejected, and left the apartment. Mobius slammed the door behind them, then headed to his bed for the worst night’s sleep of his life.

Throughout the following day, Mobius tried to convince himself it had all been a bad dream, and when that failed, he proceeded to try and convince himself that they had simply been wrong, had probably misread the pregnancy test. Hell, it had been almost twenty years since any woman had had to.

But when they showed up at his doorstep again that night, his anger at their persistent, immature joke boiled over. Just as Abra opened her mouth to plead their case a second time, he slammed the door shut. And when they slid two black and white ultrasound pictures underneath his door a moment later, he shredded them without a thought. They were probably fake, all part of their elaborate, twisted joke.

That next week the two women bombarded him with nonstop phone calls, spontaneous visits, and lengthy emails, all of which he ignored, hoping they would get the hint. And then, after five full days of harassment...silence. A day passed, then two. And by the end of the next week, Mobius had almost forgotten Mariana and Abra entirely. That is, until he tuned into the Friday evening news and saw them, Mariana’s wide smile shining in the camera, Abra’s deep amber eyes radiating confidence as they told their story to the same anchor who had announced the world’s expiration date all those years ago. A white-haired doctor sat next to the women, nodding along, confirming the finer points of the tale, waving the ultrasounds excitedly at the camera.

When the segment was ending, the anchor looked directly into the camera for her closing remarks. Her eyes brimmed with joyful tears as she proclaimed the good news.

“For the last twenty years, the extinction of the human race has been deemed inevitable. Our clock has been feverishly ticking down, our population has been dwindling. To date, we have lost over one point five billion people with no hope of repopulation. But now, we have hope. The human race has hope. And his name is Mobius Richards. Who is this man? Is he a God come down to Earth? Is he the Father of the World? We’ll find out next time.”

Mobius clicked off the TV, his mind whirring. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, beads dripping down his cheek and landing in the coarse stubble on his chin.

A rapid, thunderous pounding at his door jolted his senses. He sprang to his feet and darted to the peephole. His neighbor, Tomorrow, a stocky, muscular man of about forty, bounced anxiously from side to side outside his door. Mobius yanked the door open, pulled Tomorrow inside, and quickly closed the door.

“So is it true?” Tomorrow asked, his voice high and excited. “Are you the savior or whatever?”

“I don’t know, Tommy,” Mobius replied. “Seems that way.”

“Then what are you upset about? We should be celebrating!” Tomorrow jaunted into the kitchen and poured two shots of whisky, handed one to Mobius.

“What if I don’t want all this?” Mobius asked.

“You can’t be serious. Do you even realize the gift you’ve been given? Women are literally going to flock to you now. They’ll be undressing in the streets for you. You’ll get to sleep with as many women as you want, and it’s all in the name of humanity. Get out there and spread that seed, man! Save the world, all that shit.” He downed his whisky, slammed the empty glass on the counter. Mobius held his in a quivering hand.

He thought back to what the world had been like pre-radiation, rife with war and poverty and famine, and he thought about the world in the years following the announcement of the impending demise of the human race, how, after the initial shockwave of animosity passed, an overwhelming sense of calm overtook humanity, generosity and kindness spreading like wildfire across civilizations that were, for the first time, facing a common enemy: time. People around the globe were, for once, at peace. They held hands in the face of darkness and forged on into their limited future together.

“But what if I don’t want to save the world?” Mobius asked.

“Well, that’s on you, I guess,” Tomorrow replied as he walked away, leaving Mobius alone in his kitchen, glass still full of whisky.

Within two days of the news broadcast, he had to disconnect his phone. He was receiving calls every hour of the day and night, from other TV shows and from journalists, from strangers and from long lost family, from high-level government agencies and from research laboratories, all trying to get a piece of Mobius Richards. All trying to convince him to do what was “right.”

Within four days, he could no longer leave his apartment in peace. Every time he did he was followed by small groups of fascinated onlookers, men and women trying to get a glimpse of the man who held the future of mankind in his hands.

Within six days, the small groups had grown to hordes camping outside his apartment building, propping up tents on the sidewalk outside his window, waiting eagerly for him to appear, waiting eagerly for him to announce his plan to save humanity.

Then, after two weeks of isolation and avoidance, a knock came at his door. He crept to the peephole with breath held, fearing that one of the mobs somehow managed to break into the building, but was relieved to see a friendly face. Tomorrow waited outside with a gentle but reassuring smile.

“Pack a bag. I’m breaking you out of here,” he said when Mobius opened the door.

“It’s okay,” Mobius said. “I’m going to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Be the savior. Spread my seed. Give my body to science, have them clone me, whatever they want.”

“Good man. Why the change of heart?”

Mobius considered that for a moment before responding. “People need hope, I suppose.”

Tomorrow nodded his approval. “So what now?”

“I go face the crowd downstairs, for starters.”

“Need backup?”

Mobius shook his head and grinned, the first smile he’d managed in weeks. “I can handle them. I’m the Father of the World, aren’t I?”

But Mobius was wrong. And as soon as he stepped out into the day to address the crowd, he knew he had made a grave mistake. The mob spotted him in an instant and before he could turn and retreat into the safety of the building, the horde of people had descended on him, crashing through him like a tidal wave. He stumbled under the weight of the pressing crowd and fell to the cold concrete walkway. But the crowd didn’t let up. They continued pushing, each individual trying to get closer to the savior of the world, the great hope of mankind. Mobius tried desperately to free himself, tried to pick himself off the ground and crawl to safety. But the weight grew, and as the weight grew Mobius felt each pound of pressure building on his chest, forcing the air from his lungs, cutting the blood from his limbs, from his head. He felt the world going dark. But the people at the back of the herd kept pushing, oblivious to what was happening ahead of them. And by the time the dust settled and the crowd cleared, Mobius’s body was bloodied and lifeless and cold as the concrete on which it lay, the hope of mankind crushed under the feet of the relentless mob.