Mass Weapon
February 6, 2008

In the radioactive 1980s, many in the United States

feared the coming of a nuclear holocaust that

seemed, at the time, pending.

There were articles written about it, prominent group

decisions on the subject, definitely bolts from

a radical on the street, with hand-lettered signs

that read, in gargantuan red or black letters, 'Repent'.

Not to ignore flowing televised adaptations.

It was the terrible, turbulent tale of dual continents

on the verge of producing mushroom clouds.

What was one to do? There were some very nasty

people (no matter who) ranting about if the "big one"

hits and they survive, they would cling toward finding

others 'of their kind' and start a revolution.

Someone else would wonder, "Don't they know

humanity is through."

Our top people are powerful, not the forces that claim

to be our representatives, but we need them to set a

pace for what is redeemable for any cruelty to any land

that craves a focal point for better ways of all inhabitants.

Can this be done? Foolish to think that there are those

who banked on the destruction of nearly if not all life

and built things simply to allow exculpatory idiocy

never to be seen.

There are only a few after all of it. These will fight with

stones and sticks over scraps and less than tidbits.

The others will appear lost but concerned, nearly afraid

and unafraid; nearly without questions.

One episode presents a two-man queue among the

ashes, smothering debris, all the nothingness of nothing

spread and strewn alongside strange winter when there

probably shouldn't be cold. (The place is not important)

Each takes a valid step into the non-existence of a

predatory actuality lax of backing, mentally as well.

Notice: two waning spirits whose skin seemed patched,

protruded, and about to peel.



Really, the dogs are dead?

"Yea', I buried one I found on Hill Street.

Don' be too bline' not to look at all the

other po' creatures layin' about.

The ones that ain't dust."

I know. Was anybody around there?

"Where?"

Hill Street.

"Naw. You could smell the death."

I suppose you could. You, uh, know

we're going to be having tea with Saint Peter,

too, don't you?

" All o' us gone be doing that anyhow -

if we worth sittin' wit' 'im, that is.

I guess we just, right nah', trying to help

whoever we can out. Just tryin' to be people

until the last."

© 2008 Jarrod C. Lacy