So Slow Jones was the “Last in Line” and was responsible for enacting the “Final Rule”. He hated the fact that it was up to him but he swore an oath and duty is duty. As the last safe city on the West Coast started to be overran by the(more) zombie horde the town fathers summoned him to the defensive bunker and gave Jones his dreaded orders. He was to gather the last few living residents and force them into the gas chamber. All cities in “New America” had the law of the “Final Rule”, the law states that “In the event of a perimeter breach no living citizen shall be left to be turned and join the zombie horde thus increasing the enemy’s numbers to attack the other last remaining safe cities”. It was up to the “Last in Line” to kill all living souls in the cyanide gas chamber then himself. The residents of the safe cities knew the law and were forced to abide by it. The one privilege of Jones’s job was that his family where to be the last in the chamber.
The perimeter alarms sounded as he held his wife’s face in his hands and looked into her eyes. All that he could say is “I love you.” She shook her head and looked down at their daughter.
Jones wrapped the little blonde girl in his arms and said, “Daddy loves you Pumkin, take care of mommy and I will be with you real soon.”
A lifeless voice sounded over the intercom “30 seconds until “Final Rule” is activated.”
Jones s heart sank as he turned his family and gently pushed them into the deadly enclosure. He bolted the door, pressed his hands to his wife and daughter(less)
We are born, and then we die. To most life is a short thing that ends quickly. We feel the need to do something with our limited time, but then there are others who feel that the the time they are given goes by so slow. These are the(more) people you read about in the paper. People who feel desperate and lost. People who commit suicide and leave nothing behind but a memory.
Death comes for us all one way or another, and time (including the speed by which it passes us) is all relative to the individual. What do you view your seventy year (give or take) life span as? Something that creeps by so slowly in the grand scope of things until death claims you? Or is life something that passes by lightning fast and you feel you need to make the most of what little time you have?
Time is a funny thing indeed. Waiting always seems to slow the flow of time down. To those who are waiting for life to end its like an average, impatient person waiting in a long line at an amusement park to go on the latest thrilling ride. You just wish for time to stop being so slow. So slow.
I think it was Einstein that once said, in an attempt to make the idea of time being relative more tangible, that you can feel it, when dull moments seem to linger as the pleasurable ones disappear in the blink of an eye.
It is a thought-provoking idea whe(more)n seriously considered; that time does not flow with an invariable pace, but alters and transform intermittently; to think of it as a stream moving through an everchanging landscape, with distinct inclinations and shifting soil.
To leave the rational and logical instincts behind, and tread into the regions of philosophy and advanced physics; to examine the moments when the clock hands freeze and the hours escape the mind; there lies that which is intriguing. (less)
Karl had a face only a blind mother could love. He could not appreciate Beauty in life no matter how hard he tried. It was a curse, or perhaps just God's idea of a practical joke.
It didn't help that he went to Church every Sunday, where Almighty's(more) eternal and boundless Love & Acceptance reigned. Karl, better known as the Ape, was always seated in the back "due to his height", the Priest said. "He should be in the Army", the loving christian continued. "He'd scare the enemy, arr!". Why the Priest spoke like a pirate, nobody knew.
So Karl did just that. The Priest had given him a Bible the day he left. Thoughtful. "Always keep this Holy Book near ya, matey, in yer bad or in yer hand, arr!".
So Karl did just that. He'd charge the enemy with a rifle in one hand, the Bible in the other, with surprising efficiency. For years, he slew his brethren in the fields, on the beach, in the caves, on the mountains. The killing never stopped. God's Love never stopped.
But one night, Karl stopped. He stood on a windy beach, somewhere. Around him fire, chaos, bullets, destruction. Karl stood still. He had dropped the bloodied Bible. He looked at the stars above, burning suns in their own worlds, cold & simple watchers in ours.
He fell. And as he slowly bled, the waves kept on crashing on the shore, undisturbed, peaceful.