Targets

A little nonchalantly, he stood leaning against the window frame, staring dreamily outside. In one hand a glass of Aberlour whiskey, in the other a Romeo y Julieta cigar. Both had lain for years in the living room cupboard surrounded by his reading books. He had never had the opportunity to enjoy them deeply and intensely. Today was finally the day and in his thoughts he looked back into his past.
When he had graduated as a goldsmith and his boss had offered him to stay, he had eagerly accepted the offer, well aware that he still had much to learn. He was then almost 19 years old and had already set some clear goals for his future life.
Working with love for the craft was one of them. In addition, he was going to make a lot of money and, given his age, conquer the world. His hometown Antwerp was the perfect base for all this. The diamond trade and the harbour were two ever-growing sectors from which every middle-class person in the metropolis could benefit. He would meet a beautiful and intelligent girl and together they would have three children. He had his sights set on an old-timer, a Citroën DS “décapotable”. In the winter they would go skiing for two weeks in Avoriaz. They would get up very early in the morning and have a quick breakfast, and then take the ski lift to be the first to arrive at the top to taste the virgin slopes, untouched, and to sink to their knees in the fine powder snow.
He looked through the window at the quiet street below him and at the ever-thicker white blanket that was slowly but surely forming.
He had only been able to partially achieve his goals, because the Citroën was in the garage, but having sacrificed the last few years to his work, he had not had the time to meet the girl of his life. And it will never happen, he thought in resignation.
 Reactor 1 had been the first to start acting strangely and, a few hours later, Reactor 2 as well. The announcer on the radio had said something about insufficient checks due to a lack of personnel, or something like that.
It did not matter any more. The white nuclear carpet grew thicker and thicker and he drew from his cigar and drank the glass of whiskey…