The sun speeds
my internal clock past noon,
as the ghosts creep in their
shadows. All must run
their race to the end.
Sleep's soft hold brakes on
the concrete gravity of the City
beckoning me back.
I must carry this message of doom.
Is it just a flight of fancy?
Lacking winged sandals, I stretched
my legs.
Rising from the bed, I went to
the bathroom, washed my face, and
stared for a moment into the
mirror,
This is what I must do.
Nothing can change my mind.
***
Following the sound of voices
and activity, I went downstairs.
"Good day, sir," an elderly woman
greeted me. "There is still brunch
in the fellowship hall."
We walked together, commenting on
the weather and the fresh buds, avoiding
thoughts of the impending sick winter…
The camp was frantic, abuzz with groups
moving supplies into trucks, others
checking gear and arming themselves—
guns, always.
Still others were being paired and given
orders to be followed, or risk the lives
of everyone they loved.
Entering the hall, we found it mostly
vacant. The remainder of breakfast was
consolidated into a few chafing dishes,
eggs, sausage, pancakes…
hearty enough for the day's needs.
A young boy was sitting outside the hall,
idly watching other small children play.
Where is the Commander?
He took me to a bunker near the
entrance gate and sniper towers.
"Hello, friend. How did you sleep?"
Restlessly.
"Well, that's more than I've gotten—
and I still have many more miles."
What is all of this activity?
"We're going to take over the Center.
Anyone not with us…"
This didn't set well. How can they
hope to survive by starting the same
cycle of violence? It seemed like a
suicide mission. But there is no
time to argue.
I have to go back. I have to warn them.
"Why? It's too late. They are sheep and it
is time for slaughter."
My chest was pounding, making
it difficult to swallow, let alone
piece together words.
How is he different from Paolo?
We are not livestock. Even if there is
nothing we can do, we deserve to
know the truth. We
must all be held accountable.
No one is innocent.
"So, time hasn't changed you. Prestige
couldn't change you. Looks like
I can't change your mind. Look, you're
not even listening to me. I haven't got
the faintest idea of what to do for you,
rosy optimistic fool."
The end hasn't come, yet. So,
couldn't everything be up in the air?
Do you know how much time is left?
"Maybe, two days." He paused,
"You know you won't make it
through the gate, right?"
It didn't matter.
I have to try. I cannot just sit by
and do nothing.
Can you give me some supplies?
I just need enough to last
a couple of days.
"So, you've got it figured out?
Going back to the city?"
There's good points and bad points;
but the City is my home.
"Do you have a plan?"
Not exactly.
"What you have to say is too big to
fit on paper."
There's still hope it might work
out; but you're right. I don't think
I can print it in the paper.
"Try to be careful, don't take chances,
watch what you say."
Thank you, Humberto, for everything.
We were interrupted, briefly, when a
well armed man asked for clarification
regarding the mission.
"On your way back, down by the highway,
there's some unmarked graves; a place
nobody goes. Head beyond and you
will find the new library. It's guarded by
the Zimbra squad; but if you mention me,
they'll let you in. You can find your
notebooks. They should help to fill in
the gaps in your memories. But try not
to be too disappointed if it's not what
you expected."
My notebooks? What good are notebooks?
They won't help me survive.
"But they will help flesh out a full account."
I gave him advice in return,
Don't get exhausted. Let the others take
over for you. You ought to get some sleep.
"I don't have time for that, now."
He whistled to a man loading a truck.
"Get a survival pack together. Peanut butter,
bread, water. Make sure it's light weight."
Again, thank you.
"This ain't no party, my friend. Be safe."
When are you storming the Center?
"The vans are loaded with weapons,
everything's packed up and
ready to go. Tonight we begin our assault.
Once resistance has been neutralized,
the others will join us."
Neutralized…euphemistic bullshit.
Good luck.
I reached to shake his hand, but he pulled
me in to embrace.
"Perhaps, in the next life, we'll meet, again.
We once made a good team.
Godspeed, Brother."
Shortly after, I was on my way.
Direction was easy: sprint toward the
silhouetted crag of the polis,
skyscraper tombstones
jutting out into the distant horizon.
Already, my lungs and legs burned;
but my… soul?
was on fire,
this burning will keep me alive.
I should be in better shape, should
have better physical fitness;
but I don't have time
for that, now. It's too late.
I must reach the City.
Keep the pace going.
Focus.
This sacrifice is necessary.
Distance passed, underfoot.
stride and breathing
breathe in stride
burn
but eventually, these acid breaths
and doubling-over cramps
slow me to walking…
I need to rest. I need air.
Gasping shreds my lungs;
even air can hurt you, too.
I should eat.
Sitting in a shrub's lengthening
shadow, I pulled out the knife
and spread peanut butter on
a chunk of the loaf.
I drank deeply, though
controlling myself to conserve
my supplies.
After catching my breath, I rose and
stretched my legs. I set off, again,
seeking a sustainable pace.
If only I had wings…
breathe and stride
The sun rapidly fell from the sky
and I dread the lost hours.
Can I make it in time?
And if I do, who will hear me?
I can't write a letter; can't send a message;
don't have any paper; no ink pens;
I can't write anything at all.
But this is all detail, the message will
find its medium. I have faith.
Focus. I must first reach my destination.
If I hold on,
it'll be taken care of…
stride and breathing
Night set in, forcing my poor vision
to set a speed limit, lest I snap my ankle
in some unseen hole and
fall,
failing.
The City was a beacon glowing on the
horizon, guiding me back.
Only the destination.
Distance passed and I feel like I'm
sleeping; did I ever wake up?
What is my message? I can't
remember anything at all.
But I cannot quit.
Should I go find my notebooks?
What good are my notebooks?
Did I write about my wife,
my daughter? I had a family;
I had a life. Memories.
What are memories? I'm a
forgotten self; stuck in this
scarred shell of a past life…
Why did he hold that information
from me, until then?
Why bring them up?
What importance is my past?
distractions; focus
A full moon beamed down,
the cloudless sky yielded a
billion stars shining,
an iridescent canopy to
light my travel,
and Amrika glowing in the distance.
My vision adjusted and my speed
increased, but I am tired,
exhausted.
If I run through the night, will
I sleep through the day?
I might not ever get home.
Even with progress and distance,
Time's movement is ceaseless
and uncaring—
if only I could slow time.
There is no other choice:
only the destination,
only the message.
The cool made me shiver.
My blistered feet were sore
and tender.
Pausing for a drink,
a sudden hope flooded me, that there
might be something more
helpful
than bread and peanut butter…
Feeling through my pack,
my fingers stopped on an
envelope:
"A pick-me-up. Stay hydrated."
Do I debate the morality of
stimulants?
The City surely does not.
—overcome laziness—
Do I debate morality at a time
like this?
Only the destination.
Only the message.
Taking off, I felt wooden,
my body had no feeling, yet it
was solid,
completely solid.
I'm charged up.
distance floated away
underfoot
breath and stride cycle
in perfect harmony.
I pulsed; electricity.
This rate was maintained until
the chatter in my head
roared, catching and engulfing
me.
What am I doing?
Does anyone know what they're
talking about?
I felt light-headed. Everything,
all I saw was dots.
Some smeared,
some spots.
I drank some water and waited.
It was all over in a moment or two.
Do I fool myself?
I'm charged up.
Only the destination.
Only the message.
What is my message?
God, I want a cigarette.
Do I have a message?
Repent?
Is there even time for that?
I'm compelled to deliver this
revelation, but
what do I have to say?
Humans with nuclear bombs
are like monkeys with lighters;
and I'm nervous.
What more should I say?
Do I carry the meaning of life?
Of course not.
And regardless, once through the gates
this is all a crime against the state.
Is it all hopeless?
The world is so tightly woven,
a single spark could still
ignite change. The bombs have not fallen.
A unified cry to reconsider cannot be
overlooked.
Life on this planet is worth more than
the minerals it covers. We are
part of that Life. Humanity must
survive the vacuum; even if as loneliness.
If there is dissent, we will appeal to it.
Who is this ‘we?'
What does it matter? I'm still not sure
how much time is left.
When would a committee schedule
the destruction of a planet?
Do I continue?
I must do something.
What does it matter if I'm an
enemy of the state for a day?
I am but an individual.
If not for
the help of others,
I would be dead.
As a group, we have the potential for
greatness;
as a herd, for great evil.
I must carry the alarm.
My sleeping friends must rise.
Us and them has escalated
beyond absurdity.
But how did we get to this point?
There is no geopolitics
once the nuclear option
is introduced—
Why were we kept at odds
and fighting—
killing each other, squabbling
over small scraps of this small planet?
Those sheepdog wolves keep us
faceless strangers, eyes down,
grazing, shitting, wool sheered;
only to be finally slaughtered?
Maybe this will break our trust, once and
for all…
The bombs have not fallen,
and there is hope.
My pace speeds
as the burden of my thoughts
dissolved; I am resolved.
I lose myself in rhythm
breathe
stride
carried swiftly on by predawn
cool and calm.
breathe
stride
Light began to spill into the sky
from the east.
Soon, the sun,
revealing the City to be closer
than its blazing had shown.
I decided to pause for breakfast.
bread and peanut butter,
and water
While I ate, a deer came near and I became
very quiet.
What must animals think of us?
We are the laughingstock; and
they don't even know what a joke is.
Why would anyone want an untroubled life,
because you just are?
That's far too boring for us.
I threw a rock, startling the deer to dart off—
go ahead and laugh…
Considering the current situation,
we're setting a bad example.
Humans are bad animals.
If it all does go to shit, will something
come along and learn from us?
But the bombs have not fallen, so…
breathe stride
The destination is within reach.
Focus.
Only the message.
My body became used to this pace,
or too tired to care.
I stopped only once—
behind me came a loud rumble.
The sky was absolutely clear.
From this point it is only sprint,
only the destination.
I must reach it before I am too late.
I drink in stride; I don't have time to stop
now. I wonder will I have trouble
in transit? Will there be a road block?
I can't worry about this, now.
Only the message
Breathe
stride
stride
burn
I forget how to breathe
only run
fast
I have to make it.
I have to—
like déjà vu, a root reaches up
and I come crashing
down.
The City spans the horizon. I am close,
but
death roars by on metal wings
and boomed sonic cracks
goddamnit, I'm t—
—FLASH—
Richter shake
skin melt
explosive void
collapsing their lives into
this one instant.
And most assuredly
their deaths were painful.
I saw other blazes mushroom up
like a flipped switch
flashbulbs radiating light
on scenes of pointless violence.
Go ahead and laugh,
silly monkeys.
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