Chapter 6

  Jampocalypse

  Saturday morning, Scott is in better spirits after a not-as-eventful Friday. He even met a new friend. He opens the fridge, reaching for his usual dose of sour cream donuts.

  Empty.

  One lonely beer bottle. A box of baking soda. A loaf of bread that feels like drywall. And a container of cottage cheese he doesn’t even remember buying.

  Grocery run it is.

  “I better make a list,” he mutters, pulling out his phone.

  Without a second thought, he opens up his social media feed instead.

  Thirty minutes later, still standing in front of the open fridge, Scott blinks.

  The list!

  He closes the app, opens his notes, and starts tapping out groceries for the week.

  Donuts

  Backup donuts

  Toilet paper

  Milk?

  When do I even drink milk?

  He shrugs and adds it anyway. Then closes the fridge, tosses on a hoodie that smells vaguely like tortilla chips, and heads out the door.

  At the grocery store, Scott immediately grabs a cart, completely avoids the produce section, and makes a beeline for the snack aisle.

  Gotta prioritize the important stuff first.

  He cruises down the aisles zigzagging, stopping, reversing. He samples a small cup of trail mix at the promotional table, pockets a second cup for “later,” and tosses in two sugary cereals.

  If I’m getting milk, I might as well find a good use for it.

  As he turns the corner, he spots a table that, for a moment, looks like it’s being shined on by a spotlight. The free sample table is by the jam display, near the self-checkout. Strawberry, blackberry, and Scott’s mouth salivates a little, raspberry.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he says aloud, to absolutely no one. He grabs a cracker that’s more jam than cracker, and scarffs it down. The sales person handing out the samples stares at Scott with a look of indifference and disgust.

  “Sir, please grab one of the pre-portioned samples…”

  “Oh. Sorry about that.” Scott says, with slight embarrassment in his voice, but still grabs another two cups of samples as the salesperson glares at him. He walks away from the sample table. Reluctantly, and with a little venom, they say “Have a great day…”

  “You have a better one!” Scott calls back cheerfully.” He quickly grabs a couple of jam from the display without much thought. He walks away towards the checkout and hears a slight commotion behind him, he turns around to see the display that he just walked away from crash as jars slam onto he ground, some role away. One rogue jam flies out of the store impossibly fast towards the parking lot. The salesperson by the display stares in horrified shock, then slowly turns to glare at Scott. If looks could kill, this would’ve erased any memory that Scott ever existed. Scott mouths an embarrassed and truly apologetic “sorry” as he squeaks to the checkout aisle, and quickly scans his items with his head down.

  “Please place item in the bagging area.” The self-checkout machine demands.

  “What are you talking about, it’s literally right there…” Scott mutters.

  “Please place item in the bagging area.”

  He shifts the jar half an inch.

  “Unexpected item in the bagging area.”

  “Are you kidding me!?” Scott breathes exasperated.

  A run-down employee walks over to Scott and quickly taps numbers on the screen, no greeting, no eye contact.

  “Thank you…” Scott coughs.

  “Bad luck just seems to follow you around huh?” Asks the employee.

  “You know, I used to think that too, but–”

  “Yeah…I can tell…” The employee walks away to help another person out with their machine.

  Elsewhere, in the same heavenly meeting room somewhere in another realm. The glass walls surrounding the room are tinted from the inside out. The room is dark. The only light comes from a massive screen at the head of the large table. The angels and God are all sitting starring at the television displaying the grocery store as the jar display collapses.

  “Rewind 10 seconds.” The jars fly back on the shelves. “Slow it down.”

  The video slows down to half speed as the jars begin to collapse again.

  “Pause. Zoom in on the blackberry jar bottom right corner.” God quickly demands.

  The video zooms in on the jar, and sharpens as it’s shown flying towards the exit of the store. “That’s the problem,” She says, leaning back in her chair. “Resume the video.”

  It begins to play once more, an invisible camera following the jam as it flies past a few unsuspecting shoppers and into the parking lot. A black sedan screeches and swerves to avoid the jar. Tires squeal. A honk follows. Then silence

  God points at the screen. “That’s the moment. That car avoiding that jar is what triggers another catastrophe.”

  The slides quickly fast forward 50 pages and stop on a branching flowchart, it reads:

  Event Tree: Timeline 3493040511 - ‘The Jam Effect’

  At the bottom of the tree, a single line that reads:

  Unforeseen catastrophe: Q4

  The angels stare, digesting the information. Some of them begin jotting notes. Then, after a minute, they all turn towards God.

  The screen flickers. Silence grips the room.

  “My children. This is what we must prevent. This, Scott Murphy, leads to unpredictable patterns, disruption of order. This is why it is his duty, and our mission, to remove him from his mortal coil. We must not fail, this incident can lead to war, famine, or worse. The next plan must. Not. Fail.” As She delivers the last word, the dark room somehow goes darker, even the light from the screen has a hard time penetrating through it.

  Gabriel clears his throat, everyone's eyes shift to watch him. “My Lord...perhaps we’re being too hasty. After all, every man has both positive and negative impacts on this Earth. Scott may be a bit…chaotic, but he brings value to some–” The next slide appears before he finishes. Almost like it was waiting for this exact moment.

  A pie chart takes up the entire screen.

  Liability Index: 99.64%

  Perceived Value: 0.36%

  A beat.

  “Any other questions?” God asks, scanning the room, her eyes resting on Gabriel for a second longer than the others.

  “Good. We proceed as planned.” She says, venom slipping through.

  The next slide appears, it reads:

  Divine Intervention Authorized

  A low vibration hums throughout the cosmos.

  Meanwhile, in a different realm altogether, warmer, jazzier, with a splash of evil. The Devil lounges on a chaise lounge, which is being held up by four kneeling withered souls, an open jar of raspberry jam rests snugly in the crook of his armpit. On a massive screen in front of him, the grocery store security footage plays on a loop. The jam display collapses. One jar flies wildly out the door, the car swerves.

  “Pssshhooo.” He snorts. Rewind. And it plays again. “Pssshhooo. Oh nooo, look out.” He chuckles mockingly.

  “That’s too good.” He mutters, digging into the jar with his bare hands. Dripping the raspberry jam into his mouth. After a moment, he quickly sits up, dropping the jar on the head of one of the souls. It lets out a soft grunt.

  After a moment, he squints and pauses the video.

  “And there you are again.”

  On the screen the shadow stands behind Scott.

  “Now, why do you look so familiar, little shadow?” he mutters, analyzing the still image.

  “I think it’s time I take a closer look at you myself.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Chapter 7 : No Signifcant Impact