"We pass the word around; we ponder how the case is put by different people, we read the poetry; we meditate over the literature; we play the music; we change our minds; we reach an understanding. Society evolves this way, not by shouting each other down, but by the unique capacity of unique, individual human beings to comprehend each other." - Lewis Thomas

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The Memoir of a Solitary Wanderer pt1

In the end we are all the same, at least that is what they told. We are all dead, either dust or ash. Yet, in the world we exist and convince our selves of the differences. The blood stains around me, the cold steel at my waist are all the same colour no matter who the man was.

The wasteland, or so they called it, was nothing but desolate emptiness. A vaccuum of heat, housing the remnants of the world before. It was percisely this determination of distinct differences which lead to the world burning. Arbitrary disputes accompanied by ignorance. As it turns out the hippies were right.

The sun around breaks through the cracks of wood which old the shack that I slept in together. Each morning I awake from dreams of how the world was before. It had not been long that the world was ablaze in nuclear fire. There are still standing messages from the war. It is unclear, without traveling through time, how the conflicts began. All that is known, or is believed would be more accurate, is that it involved every nation and every man, woman and child.

This is simply the recount of one man's story attempting to survive the desolate lonliness. My story. I found a notebook in this shack with a working pen and decided to jot down notes to you (whoever you may be). These days, as I am sure you know, it is hard to know where the next meal, drink are coming from or the last time you see the sun will be. Not that not seeing the sun would be a bad thing.

Contrary to what others may percieve this desolate world to be, there are survivors. Some of which have been driven mad by the chaotic anarchy, and others who have banded together to form small settlements scattered through the North American land (probably throughout the world as well). It was my path to walk alone through this world.

I was with one of these settlements, was not always alone. The choice to leave was not entirely my own either. You see, if you have no already come accross them, they tend to be rather tyranical. Power, percieved power, takes over the mind and reaks havoc there. One thing I have learned as I watched the world burn is that we do not change. The old saying "history repeats itself" is more true now, than it ever has been.

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