|In just that one moment.....|
Do Dead Dream?Do the dead dream? That’s a tricky question. As with most preconceived notions of the Afterlife, there are a lot of schools of thought. There are those that would say, “Of course not!” Those people quickly branch off into the theists who say that the Afterlife is more real than this one, and the atheists who maintain that there’s absolutely nothing here but the complete absence of anything. Both sides of the same coin, really. Then there are those that say that it is death that is nothing but one big dream, much to the consternation of many a merry row-row-rower. For those of us that have been to the Afterlife, though, we know that each of these speculations is right. And wrong.
“Are you going to sleep the whole way?” Coyote pokes me with a pen.
I keep my eyes closed and bat him away with a groan.
“I’m bored. Make some scenery, why don’t you?”
A Camping Story“Welcome! I’m Kathy.” The comfortably plump woman spreads her arms like an afghan. Her smile illuminates the Walking-World like a bedside light. She gestures into the Room. It is pleasant and spacious. The chairs have cushions, and the cushions broadcast happy patterns. A wide window looks out to a big sky. “We’re pretty informal here, so just come on in and make yourself at home. There’s beverages on the table, and we’ll have snacks after.”
I just stare out the window. The Room is for visitors, not residents. Not us. It is an interstitial meant as advertisement. Propaganda. “All is well within,” The Room whispers. “Do not think of this place as a repository for your loved ones. You didn’t dump them here just so they would be out of the way. This is a place of care. See? Your tax dollars are at w
The Fourth SealDear Reader,
I don’t quite know how to put it in a way that you’ll understand, so I might as well begin this tale by getting this part of it over with first: My name is Death.
It’s alright. I’m assuming that if you’re reading this particular story that you are of a mostly Western European/American modernist culture, probably heavily influenced by one of the Abrahamic religions, even if you proudly declare yourself an atheist or some similar kind of nonsense. So, I’ll give you a moment to get the image of a dark robed monk with a scythe and a head of a human skull out of your head. Blood. Maggots, perhaps. Tombstones.
Okay. Did you get that out of your system? Settle down a bit now? Good. Listen, I’m probably not even doing this right. I’ve never been an Author, so I’ve probably already ruined the ending for you. Broken the Fourth Wall or whateve
The Second Seal"Line 'em up!" Sargent Blake shoved one of the women up against the wall.
"Sarge? What the fuck ya doin'?"
"These are women and children and old people. Civilians. This is wrong."
"I gave you an order, Riley. Now shut the fuck up and line these gooks against the wall."
"But they aren't the enemy. They're innocent civilians. You can't just shoot 'em, Sarge. It's against…"
"You wanna join 'em, Riley?" Blake shouted in his face. "Can't tell if they're innocent, and I don't give a flying fuck. They were harboring the enemy, and that's good enough for me. So we'll just do 'em all and let God sort 'em out."
The mortar blast was swift, silent and efficient, landing with such precision that it utterly disintegrated Sergeant Blake and Private Riley. The villagers screamed and ducked, shivering in their terror against the wall, expecting either bombs or bullets to end their misery. When nothing b
The First SealRanged weapons had changed over the millennia. He remembered the first—a simple stone, aimed with patient care. He remembered how the man’s temple erupted, how the man crumpled unconscious to the ground, how the blood stained the soil. It wasn’t that the stone was always lethal. That wasn’t his interest. What interested him the most was how it took away that bastard’s arrogant power over his brother.
It wasn’t long. Stones were paired with slings, then with branches to be fashioned into spears. The spears became atlatls and then arrows powered by bows. The stones went from being flint to bronze to iron. Bows evolved into guns. And the guns evolved into new forms of conquest as the world slipped into new power structures.
The device he held in his hand concealed its own power. Tiny thing. It held no arrows, no bolts, no bullets. It held the invisible. Ele
Just me! Tis all I am. Nothing more, nothing special, but honest in who I am.
Current Residence: USA
Favourite genre of music: What ever makes me move
Favourite photographer: dA photographers
Favourite style of art: Macro
Operating System: Windows
MP3 player of choice: IPod
Wallpaper of choice: changes lots
Favourite cartoon character: Madagascar penguins
Personal Quote: The only stupid question, is the one not asked.