A Title.

She had been starring at the television for the better part a week. Her eyes ached from the effort, and the rest of her body ached from lack of the same. Non stop news watching marathons had become the new national pass time for most of the population, and jenny was no exception. The headlines were the same everywhere, they hadn't really changed a lot since it happened, but no matter how many times the news was repeated, the message was refusing to sink in comfortably:

Nuclear attack devastates New York city.

Iran suspected to be behind the the most atrocious act of terror in human history.

World war III imminent.

The wording and the interpretation of the events varied slightly, but the the conclusion to be drawn was practically unavoidable. War was coming. And not just your run of the mill, liberate some middle-eastern country from their evil dictator and suspiciously end up with a lot of oil sort of war. No! This was to be the war to end all wars, an ultimate clash of power and culture, east V.S west Christianity V.S Islam, good V.S evil in an all out massacre, where total inhalation of the other side was the the only acceptable result.

“Good “ Jennifer spoke aloud to herself, “if there's one thing that humanity needs more of, it's war”. She cringed, barely recognizing the hoarse, dry, crackled sound that expelled from her throat as her own voice. She had been doing more crying than talking of late, and her voice and appearance gave her away. Not that there was any body there to notice, but if there were, she felt confident that she would be more then capable of inspiring nausea. “At least I'm confident about something” she thought to herself, as an unfamiliar smile crossed her face for an instant, but then faded quickly into an expression that could only be described as grief.

Jenny was 27 years old, she had shoulder long hair, the colour of which, she would herself describe as either golden brown, or Turkish hooker blond, depending on her mood and/or company respectively. Granted, it would more often be the latter, as Jennifer Cole's mood was dark at the best of times and she respected little company. She was around 5ft 3, with a slim, healthy looking body, green eyes and a pretty young face, that usually wore an expression that looked as if it belonged to a much older, much uglier women. She was a music producer by trade, but by her own definition, the music she made was further from an artistic expression of truth, and closer to audible pornography.

Jennifer lived in London, in a quaint little apartment near Camden Locke. This was where she lived , it was where she slept, where she ate, where she thought about life, but to Jennifer, it had never felt like home. It was merely a place to sit alone, and be alone. She liked being alone, or to be more accurate. She disliked not being alone. Now more than ever she craved the absence of company. The absence of hugging and crying together and “sharing our emotions so that we can learn to understand each other on a deeper more genuine level”. She did not wish to be understood, and from what she understood of others, they were seldom deep and almost never genuine. It was because of this, she was fonder of her little apartment now, than she had ever been previously. It was her sanctuary, her fortress of solitude, her little hidey hole where she could sit alone and try her very hardest not to exist, but it wasn't home. The only home she ever had was gone. Every playground she had refused to play in, every school she had attended as little as humanly possible, every boy she had rejected, turned to ash and rubble along with all the other animals and objects that comprised what used to be know as New York City.

The television interrupted her thoughts with an entirely to loud “this just in” jingle that she recognized as her own handy work. “great” She thought, “finally something depressing to help take my mind of things”. A serious looking, make-up wearing, image conscious newscaster appeared on screen to talk about other peoples pain for profit:

“tension increased today, when the Iranian President flatly refused the united nations demands of complete access to all Iranian military and weapons development facilities. The Iranians still deny any responsibility for the attacks on New York city, but the American government, and her people are far from convinced. We caught up with the P.M to asked him what he had to say on the matter”.

The scene changed and the Prime minister appeared, standing outside number Ten Downing street.

He was a short, fat, sweaty sort of man with a balding head and a arrogant “I'm about to say important stuff” kind of expression on his face. Jenny eyes narrowed and her face turned cold, as if she was trying to blow him up with sheer willpower. “A man like that could only be considered an alpha male in the sort of world that values money over merit” She thought and snorted in distaste.

The P.M opened his mouth to speak.

“The Iranian presidents refusal to cooperate sends a clear and direct message that is not to be ignored. Iran has chosen to”.

He paused.

”has chosen to.”

He paused again. He looked uneasy and slightly paler than usual. Suddenly his face contorted as if he really were about to blow up. He swayed on the spot for a bit, looking like he had forgotten how to operate his tongue. Then, in a flash, he turned his head to his left and proceeded to cover his assistant in what looked like a semi digested bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. Then as if nothing had happened, he turned back to the cameras, straightened his tie and continued with his statement:

“Iran has chosen to make itself an enemy of western civilization and as such, represents great threat to safety, freedom and democracy all over the world. No longer can we stand ideally by and grant tyrants and terrorists the freedom to to threaten the civilized world. The friendship between The United Kingdom and the United States of America is both long-standing and of great importance. We will support our friend in their time of need. The time to act is upon us. Thank you.”

Jenny was thunderstruck. She wasn't sure if truly had seen what she thought she had. She stared at the screen in silence for a few seconds, trying to make sense of things. Then she did something she hadn't done in what felt like forever. She laughed. She laughed and laughed till her eyes welled up with tears and her sides began to ache. She laughed until she was gasping and struggling to breathe and still she could not stop. “That was the best thing you ever accomplished” She said, still gasping for air. “As a P.M you're a joke,but as a joke you're a fucking genius”.

The Phone rang for fifteenth thousand time that week. Up until now she had been screening all calls, in the hopes that the outside world might disappear if she ignored it for long enough, but now, for the first time in a week, she felt like she may be able to stomach a little human contact.

“Hello” she said, returning to her regular dulcet tones. “Hey sweetie” the caller replied. “It's Leo”.

Leo was Jenny's co worker, best friend and just about the only person whose company she could stand for any extended period of time.

“Hello sugar balls” Jenny said. “um, sugar balls?” Leo asked, sounding little taken aback. “yepp, if I'm sweetie, then you're sugar balls,”she said. Leo laughed, “ I'm glad to hear that you're still hear you're still you, so to speak. Now! On a different note, where the hell have you been. Everybody's worried sick about you”. It was Jenny's turn to chuckle, “what do you mean everybody? You know perfectly well, you're the only friend I have”.”Good point,”said Leo.” Okay, allow me to rephrase. I'm worried sick about you, and other people are worried about the money you're supposed making for them. People are loosing their mind's, business is at a complete standstill without you”. “Money! You must be joking,” Jenny laughed incredulously. “Who the hell cares about the money, Don't you watch the news? Haven't you noticed that the world is ending?” Leo sighed, he fell silent for a few seconds before he spoke. “I'm coming over”. “Funny” said jenny in a tone of mock confusion“ I don't remember sending you an invitation”. “Tough shit” he replied and hung up the phone before she could respond.