It was a simple action I suppose. I mean, we press buttons every day. Big buttons, on/off buttons, elevator buttons, you get the picture. This one, however, just happened to be red. It was a little cliché, sure. But it was real. It was not in a top secret military base, or hidden laboratory or some long forgotten fortress of solitude. It was sitting on the kitchen table of sixty five year old Eliot Renan. Gray hair, scarred knuckles, the typical middle aged war vet who had one too many cats and way too much time on his hands. The button was a present, from his old war buddy Jonny Vance. But old Jonny “Jet” Vance had died years ago in a war no one remembered. Not even Eliot.

Taped to the button was a piece of aged paper that read “You know what to do Eliot. It’s time we met our end of the deal,”

Eliot would recognize that chicken scratch handwriting anywhere. He looked at the button, and something pulled at his hand. It was gentle, a breeze playing across his skin. He didn’t know why, but it felt right. Time froze for a moment and the half a dozen cats watching suddenly wished they where someplace else. Eliot pressed the button.

And Everything Changed