The Most Important Day by Jeremy Carr Jed Joralemon had a saying that had served him well for as long as he could remember: "Always dress like it's the most important day of your life. That way you'll be sure to look good when the day finally arrives." Jed firmly believed in this fashionable philosophy, and so was seldom seen not sporting a wrinkle free designer suit and complimentary tie. Clean, polished shoes, and a soft attractive shirt--not the stuffy, burdened look of a businessman, mind you, nor the obnoxious trendy uniform of a trust-fund brat--Jed's attire was simple yet tasteful. Sophisticated yet relaxed, durable yet comfortable. His clothing made him feel confident, secure, reliable. And he wore it well. And so, Jed looked his best on that day--Saturday, I believe it was--as he hauled a heavy pile of debris down La Cienega Boulevard, sweating under the heat of the bright California sun. He smiled and he sweated as he drove his trusty red pick-up truck past the perfectly preserved Mexican-style homes--what with their swimming pools all dried up and blooming with sickly yellow skeleton weeds. He drove past rows of abandoned automobiles, stalled and sullen like somber tombstones, glistening in the Sun like so many children's toys scattered along the deserted West Coast beaches, parked for all eternity. On down Hollywood Boulevard he drove, past the looming billboards and the palm trees which still stood, tall and proud, oblivious. All the way to Mulholland Drive, and up through the Hollywood hills--the road continued to wind and weave, twist and turn, buck and bend, until it finally ended near a dusty sign which read: Disinti-dump #12 His final destination. At this point, Jed went through his practiced routine of depositing the day's supply of junk and debris--garbage collected from the streets of Los Angeles. Litter to be disposed of as quickly and efficiently as possible. Jed was proud of the progress he was making, he liked to see the streets clean and drivable, the sidewalks cheery and walkable. He kept a map posted on his refrigerator at home and with a red pen took pride in marking off the newly accessible streets as he cleaned them. Hollywood was completely clear as well as Santa Monica Boulevard, all the way down to the once thriving boardwalk. It gave him satisfaction to know that he was making a difference--a difference that was clearly visible, if only to him. Besides, he had nothing better to do. He backed the truck up to the opening of the disposal unit and spent the next few hours heaving and hoeing, sweating and straining, tossing armfuls of trash into the cave-like receptacle. And he looked great doing it. Most of what he collected for disposal was junk, odds and ends tossed aside by the fleeing population of days long past, everything from half-filled suitcases to empty water bottles, scuffed shoes and wind-blown hats, medical kits, broken glass, soiled diapers, fast food wrappers, telephone books and of course, newspapers. Tons of newspapers. The last newspapers ever printed by the human race, all with similar screaming headlines. POPULATION PLUMMETS! FESTER-POX CLAIMS ANOTHER 10 MILLION! GLOBAL WAR IMMINENT! As he reached the end of the day's job, and tossed a final old tire into the mix, Jed shut the door on the unit thus activating the disintegration machine. FZAP! it exclaimed, obliterating the collection of junk and officially making Vine Street clean and clear. Jed sat back and took a long sip of replenishing water from his canteen. He was so tired from the long day of labor that he didn't even see the shiny silver saucer which floated through the air with extra-terrestrial magnificence before coming to a deft landing just fifty feet away. *** The alien beings came from a distant world and wanted Jed to explain to them what had happened here on his home planet. Why, they asked, was the Earth deserted (except for him) and devoid of intelligent, animal life? And so, once the initial shock of receiving the visitors had begun to wear off, Jed sat himself on the hood of his truck and began to explain. The aliens (who did not look to Jed like any rendition of extraterrestrial beings that he had ever seen in movies or on television) were friendly and polite and spoke English exceedingly well. Jed felt comfortable around them, so much so that he even commented that humans had never been as agreeable to him. And thus the conversation began, on a somewhat sour note, and Jed proceeded to tell the long sorry history of humanity (as he understood it) starting with the evolution of man from ape after the age of dinosaurs, all the way up through the fall of The Roman Empire, then continuing onward and westward past the Spanish Inquisition to the discovery of America. This of course led to The First World War, the rise of the Nazi Party, the Second World War, the Red Scare, the Korean War, the Vietnam war, the Cold War, and finally to the wars in the Middle East (which were too far too numerous and confusing to accurately describe). Having set the political stage, Jed then described for the aliens the destruction of the rainforests, Global Warming, the depletion of the ozone layer and subsequent greenhouse effect, the uncontrollable fires and floods, the extinction of practically every other animal species on the planet, and finally the arrival of Fester-Pox. The deadly virus had presumably leaked from a government lab (though no government ever did take credit) and succeeded in wiping out two thirds of the human population along with every last animal and insect, seemingly overnight. Then he described the third and last world war which did in the rest of the race, entirely, all save one--one man who had managed to wait it out in hiding, holding his breath for the dust to settle, for the explosions to cease, the cries to dwindle, the alarms to wind down, and the fires to die out. That one person was of course Jed. Jed, who had an astounding knack for survival, for hiding, for waiting, and for always dressing like it was the most important day of his life. The space aliens listened attentively and digested the information with seemingly sincere concern and compassion. Afterwards a huddle was held in which the aliens had a discussion of their own, amongst themselves and in their native tongue. Jed sat idly by, watching but not understanding, and sipped his water. He wondered how far he'd be set back by this whole affair--he still had plenty of work ahead, he'd barely even dented Santa Monica. After a short while the aliens approached Jed and revealed to him their otherworldly plans. With a huge alien grin, surely meant to put Jed at ease, the leader explained that with a small sample of living DNA, just a scrape of Jed's skin would suffice, they would, with their advanced technology, be able to, in a sense, clone him. But not just him (for this was alien technology, and very far advanced indeed), what the aliens proposed to do was to clone back humanity, as it were. To re-populate the world. To give another chance to a dead planet. To restore things, over time, to the way they once were. "Just think of it Jed," the alien leader began excitedly, "Your world put back in order! The rebirth of an almost extinct race. Humans back on Earth! And all thanks to you!" They were ecstatic at the opportunity and wouldn't take no for an answer (it was not often that they came across planets which had so utterly obliterated themselves and they rarely had the opportunity to put their technology to such good use. Jed was silent for a moment, then smiled and politely asked them for a moment alone. The aliens agreed (they knew it was a lot to absorb, particularly on such a hot day) and while one went to get a fresh pitcher of water and an advanced DNA-scraping device, Jed went for a little walk. The words of the alien leader reverberated through his head. "Humans back on Earth. Re-birth of an almost extinct race. All thanks to you." It was one hell of a proposition. Jed looked his best on that day, the most important day of his life, as he walked down a small sunny path, the fate of humanity resting literally in his hands, and stepped resolutely into the disintegration machine, closing the door behind him forever. Fin "Jeremy Carr is an independent filmmaker who has written and directed such short films as "The Crutch", "The Spinoli Incident", and "Homemaker 3000." He is currently developing his first feature length film. His short story "The Most Important Day" was written as a reaction to the movie "A.I."--when Jeremy disagreed with what he took to be one of the film's central themes."

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