At first, the neighbors were only mildly concerned; they figured they could hold out until the authorities arrived and the grocery stores were re-stocked. Fear set in once it became apparent that there were no authorities and no grocery stores, and outright panic broke out when their food was gone and the looters arrived and started raping and killing and burning houses.
We got away, but only just barely.
I thought of going into the city to look for her, but it was too dangerous--radioactive, full of crazed looters and desperate victims. I couldn't search, fight, and care for Nicholas at the same time.
We walked. We camped and played and ate when we could.
A man we encountered in a toy store tried to kidnap Nicholas. I shot him dead and I'll never regret it.
Nicholas's eyes lit up. He laughed and ran to the slide. For the first time in weeks, he could play and be happy, like the little boy he was.
I was happy too, for the first time since the world came to its end. Happy to not worry about where to sleep, what to eat, or the intentions of strangers.
I put Nicholas on the swing and got behind him to push. As he laughed, I cried. For us, for mommy, for the whole damned world. There would never be any parks again.
Worse, other people--smart people who wouldn't consider applying a buzzing blade to their most sensitive area--pretended to believe him. They awarded him money for his "pain and suffering." But you and I know they did it while muttering "idiot" under their breath.
It never would have happened if Mitchell hadn't come over drunk, if he hadn't choked me, and if I hadn't called James for help. James picked up the knife, and Mitchell taunted him, telling him he was too big of a pussy to use it.
James wouldn't answer questions. He wouldn't let go of the knife, either. I was afraid his blood-maddened eyes would turn on me.
My brother was supposed to become the Action Jackson military guy; I was the smart one that was going to college. Then my father runs off, there's no money for college, and my brother can't join because he burned down a warehouse.
I still had ambitions. Did I want to join? No. But it was the only way to be something besides a career burger-flipper.
So here I am, thirteen years later, with my Japanese wife and handsome son, a nice house, and getting ever closer to a Master's degree. Funny how things turn out.
They knew I was coming. Cartoon characters came at me in wavesÃƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬â€silly rabbits, cuckoo cocoa birds, toucans, and monkeys carrying chainsaws. They had a horrible gleam in their eyesÃƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬â€Sugar Madness. It bolstered their courage and was the source of their unswerving loyalty.
In the end, I got what I came for, but at terrible cost. The cartoony naval officer's forlorn cry of, "Nooo! Captain Crunch is not expendable!"will forever haunt my dreams.
I stared in horror at the table of surgical tools. They were filthy, crusted with dried gore from previous victims. I struggled harder against the straps that held me down.
"But I thoughtÃƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬â€"
"No, you didn't think. You desired."He pulled gloves over his hands. "You see, this is the primary difference between the 'wants' and the 'can-gets,' which is really the proper term for what people call the Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœhaves' and the Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœhave-nots.' The 'wants' pay attention to whom they envy and what they desire. The 'can-gets' pay attention to everything.-
It was an odd, surreal momentÃƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬â€a transition from childhood to adulthood. My grandfather bought some fireworks, and my younger brother and I had a good time setting them off in my grandmother's front yard. The adults watched me, trying to figure out what I would become, what would happen now that I was no longer Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœone of the kids.'
My uncles, former Marines, were betting I would wash out in boot. I showed those assholes.
Two soldiers stole her brother's bike. He was angry; though his family warned against it, he went to the German command post and complained.
An officer dutifully listened to the boy and made a report. Two days later, he appeared at the girl's farm, pushing the bike. He apologized to the family and told them that the soldiers would be disciplined.
Were they all vicious animals? No. Most were just soldiers.
For a smart guy, Eli Whitney sure was naive. And so are we, I think as I answer my cell phone and my Blackberry and....
Perhaps that it is not true. There is a way out--you must find it, leverage what skills you have, and muster the courage to escape.
Don't blame me; I saw these kinds of ads all over Japan.
These are not choices, though totalitarians and dictators are good at making them seem that way. I don't approve of communism, prole revolutions, and "workers' paradise", but I can see how they became popular to people who work to produce products for ungrateful and often sadistic bosses who care only for their bottom line, not how it affects their workers.
But the real world isn't like that. You grit your teeth and try to forget the pain and humiliation. There's too much at stake to do otherwise.
The public loves a well-armed mental meltdown at the local office, no matter how much they decry the violence. But the truth is, most of us suffer in silence.
Too bad we all can't work that way. The production schedule doesn't allow for it. Faster, wage-slave!
I can't wait to try this suit on.
I say let them kill and screw and steal from each other. All the little people are offered is a chance to elect one looter or another. Most are unaware of the option of non-participation. If they were, there would be a revolution tomorrow.
Because that's how we'll know it's real. CNN describes a massacre, that's blasÃƒÆ'Ã‚Â©; Ted Koppel tells us about another high-school shooting, yawn. But watch your neighbors kill each other in their own front yards, in front of their kids and wives? That's real.
It's not the death I eagerly anticipate. Death is the disappointing climax, the "that's it?" that makes you wonder why your heart beat so fast while you waited...
I was amazed by the sheer number of books available. I marveled at Frazetta's awesome covers, and de Camp's dedication to the character. Could I ever create something that great, that lasting?
Today's topic--the Useless Nation's claim that they had evidence of Bush's secret torture prisons. You know, the ones so secret that no one knows where they are. I pissed off some freedom-loving liberals so much they threatened to report my terrorist comments to Homeland Security. I guess freedom of speech only applies if you have the correct opinion.
That's just part of the game, getting you to lower your defenses.
The truth is ugly. In times of strife and competition, or even just for a laugh, the first weapon people reach for, the first target they aim at, are the weaknesses you exposed earlier.
That guy was right. People who have friends are fools who deserve to be betrayed.
To get US military personnel out of their homeland, a group begins systematically kidnapping soldiers, injecting them with non-lethal doses of heroin, and dumping them in places where they are easily found. This drives many people out of the military on drug charges and eventually restricts the remainder of them to bases. After this, bombings and poisonings of various concentrated areas (barracks, mess halls) do the rest. People will refuse to serve in that area, and destruction of property and denial of services (water, electricity, sanitation) will make it impossible to operate there.
A foreign military ship at sea asks for assistance. A US ship obliges, sending R&A teams via RHIB and helo. On the trip back, the helo is shot out of the sky by the foreign ship. The ship then declares it is holding the unarmed R&A team hostage; it handcuffs the members to various points around the ship and warns the US ship that any action taken will kill the hostages. The foreign ship pulls away, warning them not to pursue. When they do, a hostage is killed and thrown overboard. Continue...
...When the foreign ship returns to port, they loudly trumpet that they have captured a US Navy "Assault Team" that attempted to board and take over their ship. They display the men and weaponry (black market purchased) on TV, but do not allow the men to speak to reporters or international organizations. Despite denials, world opinion goes against the US. Evidence produced by the Americans is "doctored" and "obviously fake", according to everyone from newscasters to columnists to bloggers. By the time anyone finds out the truth, irreparable damage is already done.
"See what coming?"
"The blow that'll kill you if you don't get out of its way. That's the only secret--to keep looking, no matter how much you want to look away. Unless it's time for you to look away."
"How will I know when it's time to look away?"
My father took another pull from his flagon, rheumy eyes staring at me over the rim. He never did answer me.
I'm ambivalent about it. I want it, and I'll be disappointed if I don't make it, but it won't be a life-ender. I have lots of other things going on (getting my Master's degree, Krav Maga, etc). On the other hand, I don't want to be one of those pathetic First Class retirees.
There is also some seriously evil shit that goes on. I've been to some of these places; ranking boards, executive washrooms, the fly on the wall at privileged conversations. What I've heard is sickening.
I don't think so. There are many who decry violence and war and hatred, but they remain glued to their screens (TV or computer) to see the latest examples. For some, it's better than porn. There's nothing better than a well-armed mental meltdown for drawing the viewers in.
I, at least, am honest about my pleasures. I figure that all that killing and hate subtracts people from this planet. And in my opinion, the quality of life on this planet increases as the population decreases. I'm in love with murder.