Author's Note: This isn't a fanfiction and that bothers me greatly. It is in the fanfiction section after all. Anyway, I thought I'd put this up here to show you I'm not dead! I made it for a contest on dA.I'll prolly continue it! Enjoy!

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Science Says

A scenic kitchen, small but homey. A man and a woman sit. The man's name is Barnard and the woman's name is Martha. They are married and in their early thirties. They are both in their Sunday best, sitting, waiting anxiously for their ride to arrive. Barnard is reading the newspaper, yesterdays. His eyes skim the words, but nothing is sticking. He reads the some sentence several times over, before giving up. He folds the paper up and pours himself a cup of coffee.

Martha proceeds break an egg over the frying pan. The man sighs in a fashion that suggests that they had this conversation just a few moments ago.

"Martha," Bernard says evenly, "I said that I didn't want breakfast." Martha does not look up, as though she did not hear him. The man continues, this time in a more affirmatives tone, "I say we just drive up and meet them half way, all this waiting is driving me crazy…Besides, everything smells like oil. Everything tastes like oil. I'm never going to get this awful smell out of my nose- ever."

Bernard pauses, hoping his speech has some effect on his wife but no avail. He sits down presently, dejected. The wife in one quick step turns on the small TV in hopes of distracting her husband. The morning news is on. A rather attractive newscaster is on. She is speaking about the oil spill and the approaching hurricane.

"Leading Scientist believe that the oil will not have any significant impact on the approaching hurricane, however; it is advised that you still take the standard safety precautions."

"Turn that off," He says as the sound of fried eggs and TV static fill their little kitchen, "How can you stand to eat when it smells like a gas tank in here?"

"Be sure to turn off all power, including gas and electricity. And make sure you have your valuables like passports and social security cards."

"Hush and eat your egg, dear" She places the round white dinner plate on the table. A practically perfect sunny sided up egg. A piece of messily buttered toast sits on the side. The husband does obediently.

"While evacuation is not mandatory, it is highly recommended to have a backup plan."

The wife sits down on the opposite side of the table, a mug in her hand. Her coffee is hot and black. The topic on the new changes to the new ways BP is trying to tackle the oil spill. The husband, unable to finish his meal because everything tastes of oil, stands up and turns the TV off. The image lingers before fading to black. He tells his wife he'll be outside just as the phone rings. She stands up and goes off to get it.

Their home is boarded up, all except the door. The husband steps out side. The weather suggests a massive storm is approaching. He can see the billowing wall of clouds just up a head. The oil smell is strong outside. He wears a look of disgust. Somewhere in the distance, shutters are slamming. He is just about to take a step off his stoop when his wife calls from him inside the house. Her voice sounds panicked.

The husband quickly returns inside.

"What? What is it?" He asks, putting his coffee down. It had quickly cooled down and was no longer enjoyable. Its dark colour reminds him of the oil, the smell he'll never be able to get out of his nose.

"Brenda and Robert just called," She replies, her state of panic clear. She, for some reason, has gathered up her jacket and her purse, before she had called her husband in, "They said that the road ways were all blocked and are instructing people to get into massive military helicopters!"

Barnard looks at her, in disbelief. His mouth hangs open, staring at her blankly. They said the storm was to be more violent than last season, but for the military to step in before the storm hit. Unheard of.

"Robert said that they were filling up quick," She continues on, ignoring her husband's dumbfounded expression, "One was all full and took off. He said it hadn't came back yet. 'Suspects that they won't--Get our things and get in the car, we're leaving here with or without the military."

Soon, the two were in their car. Martha turns the car on and they start to drive with great speed down the road. No one is out. A lonely bike rests on a tree. The sky is grey and the trees are shaking in the now turbulent wind. Their home seems empty and desolate. Barnard is holding a pale yellow box with everything important inside: Their social security cards, birth certificates, wedding pictures, birthday cards, secret family recipes passed down through generations, and so on. The clouds have now moved over head. It starts to rain. Slowly, at first, small, clear, watery drops. The sky rumbles. Martha turned on the windscreen wipers. The rain coming down ceases to be clear and watery, it is now brown and sludge like, just like…

The man rolls down his window and sticks his hand outside. "Oil…" He says, mystified. It was now raining oil. He unbuckles his seat belt. His wife says something, but he cannot hear her. Sirens are going off in the distance. Somewhere a baby is crying. The sounds of shutters slamming and limbs breaking echo in the distance. The sky is dark now. Barnard goes to put his head out the window for a better view of what's happening behind them when his wife slams on the breaks. Their car skids against something unseen and sharp. Their tires rupture and their car stalls out.

"C'mon, c'mon," Martha mutters under her breath, "Work, damn it." She swears, hitting the steering wheel in a bit of micro-road-rage. Barnard steps out of the car, his wife demands to know where he is going. Something caught his eye. He steps away from the car and looks to the horizon that lies behind them.

"Oh…my…God…"