Flash Fiction: Godzilla vs. Big Ben

Posted on 03/27/2021 by Pisaries Creator

(This idea came to me as I accidentally said Godzilla vs. Kong when referencing the newly released movie. It goes to show that ideas truly can come from anywhere.)

Forget the Kong, this is the story of the assault on Big Ben. You know the building with the Clock Tower in Westminster, London? The clock may strike at every hour, but Godzilla can strike at any time. He’s been lying in wait, ready to emerge from the deep waters, and swing his body and tail at whatever comes his way: planes, drones, cars, people. When he first came onto the screen, it was 1954. Lots of things have changed since then. We have faster cars, hand held phones, millennials, and space travel. The kaiju is known as the alpha monster, the king of all who doesn’t give a shit, a face only a mother could love. Too bad he’s one scaly gigantic monster you can’t ignore. People regard him as the monster who shows himself only when the world needs saving. This time he means business because he hates tall building and clocks even more.

I anticipate what most people are thinking. Who cares about a monster that attacks a defenseless historical building? There are much taller buildings for Godzilla to attack! Why attack this neo-Gothic masterpiece of a building? Does this monster really have beef with England? Let me tell you. The kaiju doesn’t give a rat’s ass what culture it represents. He only wants to destroy what he sees as wrong. While the British accent is widely loved by the world, Godzilla does not. He only speaks one language and that is a language humans will never understand, not even myself even though I’m one out of five who’ve had the privilege of touching his scales.

The day Godzilla attacked Big Ben was a surprise to all. All the news stations changed their itinerary to cover this breaking news. First, he struck the building facing the bridge. Next, he struck it from the opposite side. The destruction of its cultural symbols was brought down with each massive blow of his tail. His end goal was clear. The last remaining piece was the clock. I watched in horror and amazement as he smashed every bit of it to pieces. The sheer force behind his rage sent many of the parts flying into the Thames. I watched people jump into it to save as many pieces as possible, neglecting the ones on land. No one should blame them, not even I wanted to test my fate with an angry monster.

As quick as he made his assault, his body relaxed and leapt into the river. The level barely covering his legs. By now the reinforcements had come in and were making their way to him. Soon he would be surrounded and on the receiving end of a massive assault. He had destroyed a world treasure not of gold but monarchies past and present. Westminster would never be the same. For all the precautions the British took to preserve it, in less than five minutes it was gone. The chiming of the Clock Tower was officially gone and so was I.