Time's up sailor man.
Today's a good day to die.
Keep going. Ferromagnetic sled glides, levitating through the coil. It's power is proportionate to the amount of time that it spends in the magnetic field.
It's good to keep death near at hand. To become familiar, I think.
What the fuck, when I'm lying and generating fiction (see below) I can fill a page or two. When I'm trying to be honest, I get this. (Look Up)
What would I say I were about to dissapear? (Hypothetical situation)
I would need to say something, the big premeditated peice never being finished in this case. I dread the idea of adressing itemized shoutouts to people in what is essentially a suicide note...
Not "I'm sorry" because I'm not.
But I would need to make some mention of the love I carry.
I would hope that would be remembered.
I would be denigrated for such a move, which is fine as I won't be able to take it personally.
And I would like to humbly request that the "Galaxy Song" by Eric Idle be played at the memorial or wake or whatever. That's the one in The Meaning Of Life that is sung by the little pink spiv that comes out of the refridgerator in the organ donor scene.
Please and Thank You.
[BANG]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
[possible late-to-end episode]
He was alone. Destroyed inside. He felt woe over a death for the first time in what must have been months. There were bright white highways of skin extending down over his face from his eyes, the rest a dusky brown.
What could he do? She couldn't walk, and she couldn't fight to produce adrenaline. He even tried to provoke her into attacking him, but it just made them both start to cry. He suffered for the madness of straining to save his friend over the scores of other survivors that they had murdered. But he did so nonetheless. He knew somehow that he couldn't save her.
They slept rolled together for the last times the day before. He gave her a massive shot of Dilaudid as she slept, some of the last remaining, and an hour later her heart stopped. He left the alcove, and her.
He felt scared now. This place was so vast, no counterbalance to him. He could kill so unrestrainedly now, even as she had done and had, inadvertantly, kept him from doing. He was armed to the teeth, cloaked, eminently suited to survive as a lone man, a maurader, but he did not want to picture anything of the sort without her. He'd loved her. And he was a monster. There was no longer, no, there was never a place in the human being for "Love". Not like this. He decided that he also must die.
Somewhat distant now, unimportant, was the knowledge that he would, probably, die also of radiation poisoning. Not as painfully, but he had to have been as exposed. This he believed, anyway, but he did not care. His mission was now clearer in his mind as his sobbing receded. He would need to solidify his status as a monster by one final act of wanton killing, whomever he encountered first would do, and then one final act of selfish indulgence as he injected the final Mad Max cocktail of his life. And if these people that he expected to find and ambush happened to get lucky and kill him, so much the better.
He made up his mind to last for two days.
Two days he walked until at last he reached the coast. Pale sunlight failed to glitter on the ocean waters, but he could sense it approaching on the horizon. There was the twisted wicker-like remains of a building half submerged here, peppered with concrete chunks like dandruff imbedded in his hair.
Seeing nobody, and having been awake for 48 hours, he sat down. He fell asleep sitting on the ground. Totally exposed.
The impulse to commit the magnitude of murder that he had had in mind dissolved with the absorption of sleep.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Keep going. Ferromagnetic sled glides, levitating through the coil. It's power is proportionate to the amount of time that it spends in the magnetic field.
It's good to keep death near at hand. To become familiar, I think.
What the fuck, when I'm lying and generating fiction (see below) I can fill a page or two. When I'm trying to be honest, I get this. (Look Up)
What would I say I were about to dissapear? (Hypothetical situation)
I would need to say something, the big premeditated peice never being finished in this case. I dread the idea of adressing itemized shoutouts to people in what is essentially a suicide note...
Not "I'm sorry" because I'm not.
But I would need to make some mention of the love I carry.
I would hope that would be remembered.
I would be denigrated for such a move, which is fine as I won't be able to take it personally.
And I would like to humbly request that the "Galaxy Song" by Eric Idle be played at the memorial or wake or whatever. That's the one in The Meaning Of Life that is sung by the little pink spiv that comes out of the refridgerator in the organ donor scene.
Please and Thank You.
[BANG]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
[possible late-to-end episode]
He was alone. Destroyed inside. He felt woe over a death for the first time in what must have been months. There were bright white highways of skin extending down over his face from his eyes, the rest a dusky brown.
What could he do? She couldn't walk, and she couldn't fight to produce adrenaline. He even tried to provoke her into attacking him, but it just made them both start to cry. He suffered for the madness of straining to save his friend over the scores of other survivors that they had murdered. But he did so nonetheless. He knew somehow that he couldn't save her.
They slept rolled together for the last times the day before. He gave her a massive shot of Dilaudid as she slept, some of the last remaining, and an hour later her heart stopped. He left the alcove, and her.
He felt scared now. This place was so vast, no counterbalance to him. He could kill so unrestrainedly now, even as she had done and had, inadvertantly, kept him from doing. He was armed to the teeth, cloaked, eminently suited to survive as a lone man, a maurader, but he did not want to picture anything of the sort without her. He'd loved her. And he was a monster. There was no longer, no, there was never a place in the human being for "Love". Not like this. He decided that he also must die.
Somewhat distant now, unimportant, was the knowledge that he would, probably, die also of radiation poisoning. Not as painfully, but he had to have been as exposed. This he believed, anyway, but he did not care. His mission was now clearer in his mind as his sobbing receded. He would need to solidify his status as a monster by one final act of wanton killing, whomever he encountered first would do, and then one final act of selfish indulgence as he injected the final Mad Max cocktail of his life. And if these people that he expected to find and ambush happened to get lucky and kill him, so much the better.
He made up his mind to last for two days.
Two days he walked until at last he reached the coast. Pale sunlight failed to glitter on the ocean waters, but he could sense it approaching on the horizon. There was the twisted wicker-like remains of a building half submerged here, peppered with concrete chunks like dandruff imbedded in his hair.
Seeing nobody, and having been awake for 48 hours, he sat down. He fell asleep sitting on the ground. Totally exposed.
The impulse to commit the magnitude of murder that he had had in mind dissolved with the absorption of sleep.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------