The Prettiest Nightmare

Chapter 17

Black plastic bags, died black sheets taped over windows. Stillness. The street. Boards banged over doors, some slowly bang open empty orifices. An almost total silence. Broken by starving howls of some faraway unfed pet. What day is it? Kneads his hand over the loose dough of his eyes and forehead. I don’t know anymore, think it’s Thursday? Appears an uncontrollable rubber fire is empting it’s insides into the sky over the other side of town. Black smoke clouds the size of elephants pump into the air. Some sort of surveillance plane flies over head. It’s pretty quiet. Yeah, I think most people have been taken into quarantine, I think, least they had these giant converted semitrailers the army was using to transport them all somewhere, you didn’t have to go, they didn’t make you go, but the warnings were like stay at your own risk and all that, usual media scare tactics to try and get people to go, I hid under house for awhile, didn’t want to get taken down for what happened out there, but they never even really checked anyway. A elegantly dressed elderly couple with pale faces ready to puke walk up the middle of the street hand clenching hand together, sunglasses on the lady, nothing over the eyes of the man, and in his eyes, not grief, or hope, or happiness, or tears, just a terminal illness surviving for each second glaze. Acceptance. In slow motion she falls over, just sort of crumples up, the old lady. I go to help her. Menace grabs my arm. What are you doing man? She needs help. The old man stops, slowly looks down at her, he pauses, lets her hand go and then with no emotion keeps shuffling along. More acceptance. She’s dead Chris. Should we bury her or something? Don’t be stupid, we need to conserve our energy, just like the message, the bodies are only going to keep, what’s the word? Building? No, fuckin…the times tables one, the x? Multiplying? Yeah the bodies are only going to keep on fuckin multiplying. The Sun is now either setting or rising, it’s hard to tell. What a beautiful dying planet. Looks like we’re going to die in our own lids. In our own fantasies. Such a beautiful way to go. Why not snuff shut dreams? Say no to nightmares…Why not? Fantasy fainting into organ failure. We deserve it. We earned it. I have a plan, but… But what? But I can’t fuckin remember the what anymore, I have a plan, it’s written down back in the houslook at the skylook at that sky, beautiful, it’s so beeewtiful man…


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