Writing the Apocalypse

There was a time when I enjoyed turning on the t.v and watching the bullshit that was on while slowly sipping a beer.

It was always more of the same random shit: cartoons, family sitcoms, game shows…just the regular Americanized viewing for the brainwash-enthusiasts who enjoyed spending hours in front of the blinking screen.

But now things are different and every time I turn on the t.v there is a real sense of anticipation; now every time I turn on the t.v I switch over to the news channel and watch the world plunge in chaos and tyranny.

We are now entering a new era – a world-war-archetypal era where madmen run on the streets with shotguns and bombs and thwart helpless civilians just going about their regular business.

As I watched these worldwide carnages unfold with shocking ease I couldn’t help but wonder how mankind had gotten here. Was it foolishness? Greed? Instinct? Devolution? How does one revert to such a primitive state of mind and resort to heavy weaponry to make it in this world?

All these wild people had two things in common: they were all dressed in black attire which really made it difficult to differentiate them from a pack of gorillas, and they all had the same battle cry going in for the kill.

They all yelled something thinking themselves preachers of some kind, like the little boy who wears a cape and suddenly thinks he is superman.

Monstrosity is the new fad crawling in our streets, sewers, houses, apartments, bedrooms, etc. in snake-like fashion, unleashing demons we weren’t previously accustomed to grappling with.

At this point, there is simply too much wrong going on in the world for alcohol to make me forget about.

The latest announcements on the news detailed another list of casualties that had fallen victim to the barbaric acts of these ape-like gunmen.

I turned off the t.v, finished off the last can of my six-pack, locked my doors and windows and went straight to my writing room.

I sat there and contemplated the desk for awhile. There were armed people outside embarking on killing sprees and here I was sitting in my room like some kind of fluffy rabbit inside his rabbit hole with nothing but a laptop, a small t.v., a fridge filled with beer and some books. I never held a gun before and I think that if I ever did, I’d be the fastest man to accidentally shoot himself to death.

All I ever felt comfortable holding where a pen and paper or a laptop to type on. Writing is my only way in this world despite being ineffective against the latest onslaughts adopted by governments and fanatics alike.
It may feel like swimming against the stream but at least it keeps me sane.

And they wonder why some people choose to become writers and write their way into this world: who, if not these people, will ever relate these tragic incidents tarnishing human lives and humanity as a whole? Who will play down the evildoing of man and expose his vile and corrupt ways? Who will educate the upcoming generations of ignorant minds who march into the world like a kid walks into a playground?

While our bodies and souls may be chopped down and shredded and pierced by bullets and burned down to cinders, the words we leave behind will never be tamed.

It was getting dark and late and the only voices outside were those of the howling cold wind and the cries of the martyrs.

I decided not to drink for the rest of the night. I wanted to remember the horror and the fear I had seen on t.v. and pass it on to future generations. I typed a small poem on my laptop, took off my clothes and went straight to bed.

Whether many of us will live to be part of this new era may be undecided, but what we do with our time to survive this apocalypse remains very much in our hands.

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