what it needs, wherever it finds it, to survive.
Regardless of how much we might like to delude ourselves, we're not much
different from those other animals. We take what we need, wherever
we find it. We want to survive, too.
Admittedly,
we could behave more responsibly but, even so, the harm that we're doing
to the planet isn't caused only by the nature of our behavior but also
by its magnitude. There are almost 8 billion of us on the planet
now, and bad behavior that might be tolerable when a few people are involved
might be disastrous when almost 8 billion people are involved. As
recently as a century or so ago, we might have been able to limit the size
of our population, and to do so with some degree of grace and dignity.
It seems to me that we've lost that opportunity. I expect that the
size of our population is going to be substantially reduced, probably soon,
and probably by circumstances that are beyond our control. It isn't
likely to be graceful but maybe we can at least salvage a little of our
dignity. Maybe not. As Paul Harvey used to say, that's the
rest of the story.
—editor
The
next message was sent to me on a Post-it, stuck to a book of stamps.
—editor
My
small match to assist in your battle against the darkness.
—R. O., a prisoner
Thank
you for the stamps. I'll use them against the darkness.
—editor
Hereafter
Fiction by Sam Aurelius Milam III
Nobody
knew. Nobody could have known. There wasn't any way for anybody
to know. There still isn't.
All
of those stories. Near death experiences. Somebody looking
down at his body from above. Guiding angels, and a light at the end
of a tunnel. All wrong. All wishful fantasies. Nobody
knew. People who learned the truth, billions of them, never had any
way to send it back.
For
me, it started with me laying on my back, looking at the ceiling.
Edna was frantic and calling somebody on the telephone. Next thing,
there were firemen hovering in my vision, looking grim. Edna was
crying. One of the firemen reached down and pulled my eyes closed.
Why the hell did he do that? Why the hell couldn't I open them again?
I
couldn't see anymore, but I could still hear. They were talking about
me like I wasn't there. I started to get scared. They were
making arrangements to take me somewhere. Hospital? I couldn't
be sure.
I
couldn't see who it was, but some people lifted me onto something and it
felt like I was being wheeled away somewhere. I was lifted again,
heard a thud, and began rocking back and forth. Hell, I was in some
kind of a vehicle. I didn't hear a siren. If they were taking
me to a hospital, then there should have been a siren.
I
got moved again, placed on a cold table, not a bed. Why? Then
motion, smooth and horizontal, and a thud. Then, it got cold.
There weren't any sounds. I stayed that way for what seemed like
a long time.
Eventually,
there was motion again, smooth and horizontal, like before. Then
I was lifted onto another cold surface. Terror! Horrible pain!
It felt like I was being cut into little pieces. Through my terror,
I could hear a calm voice talking about what he was doing. Looking
back, it was an autopsy. I felt every cut of the blade. He
cut me into little pieces, and then sewed me closed again. Through
it all, I couldn't move, couldn't scream, nothing. I was moved again,
back into that cold, quiet place. By then, I'd figured out that I
was dead.
I
was moved again. People touched me in various ways, cleaning me I
suppose. I felt fabric. I decided that I was being dressed.
After that, I went into some kind of an enclosure. I could guess
that by the change in the quality of the sound. More motion, like
a car, maybe. Then normal sound again, soft music and people talking
quietly. I recognized it. I was at a memorial service, a funeral
parlor. Damn! Well, at least somebody showed up.
After
that, my box was moved around for a while, then a downward motion.
Then the sound of dirt falling on the top of it. After that, it got
really, really quiet.
I
don't know how long it's been. There isn't any way to judge the passage
of time. I can't see. It's utterly quiet. The temperature
never changes. I can't feel around because I can't move. You
think an autopsy is painful? Try being buried forever. I've
become insane many times, and regained my sanity out of sheer boredom.
Many times. Countless times. My life didn't flash before my
eyes when I died but I've remembered it millions of times, from beginning
to end, since then. Lately, that's getting harder to do. The
memories are getting harder to find. Maybe I'm fading. Eventually,
even with metal coffins and embalming fluid, eventually, my body has to
decay. I'm hoping that eternal life was another fantasy, hoping that
I'll fade away with my body. There isn't any other way out.
Might have been easier in the old days, with no preservatives and just
wood boxes. Well, probably not easier, but at least it wouldn't have
lasted so long.
Damn,
I wish that I'd specified cremation.![10x5 Page Background GIF Image](../../Images/10x5_Page_Background.gif)
August 2019 |
Frontiersman,0c/o
4984 Peach Mountain Drive, Gainesville, Georgia 30507
http://frontiersman.org.uk/ |
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