Thursday, October 21, 2010

First Wave

-- Adrienne Miller

It’s rare to find me and the term realist hanging out in the same sentence. We’re not the closest of friends. Sometimes we’ll nod awkwardly to each other as I sign a rent check or go lingerie shopping, but when it comes to the end of the world I’m sorry to say I am devout realist.
It probably helps that the apocalypse is not my fantasy. I’ve found the brutal reality of life gritty enough without having to add a heaping helping of looming despair to help it along. Sure, I liked the movie Zombieland, but I didn’t take it as a visionary glimpse into the future of all mankind. I don’t worry about extinction level asteroids (what good would it do?) or pandemic outbreaks (couldn’t stop it anyway). I don’t understand the romance of literally being the last one standing. Truthfully, it’s hard for me to imagine worse fate. 

But if the apocalypse comes--and I want the record to show that I don't think that it will--I want to go in the first wave. 
The realist in me, says that it if it happens, the real end of the world is not going to a Bruce Campbell inspired quip-fest. I’m thinking it’s going to be more Cormac McCarthy’s  The Road. And I’m not all that eager to hang out for that. 

Us first wavers, we don’t linger. The bomb goes off, the space rock hits, and BOOM, it’s over. Just like that. I read The Stand. Those people at the base went quick and easy. The others? Not so lucky. 
Now, I’m not going to puff out my chest and feed you some crap about how I’m not afraid of death. I am. It’s just that there’s other stuff that I’m a lot more afraid of.
Like pain. Real pain. The long, drawn out suffering of a slow decline. The terrible realization that not only have you lost everyone and everything that you ever loved, but that with them died the hope of ever feeling that way again. 
Hope? Dead. Joy? Dead. In fact, the only thing alive is you, and all that you pray for is that when death finally does decide to grace you with his touch that he doesn’t make it linger. 
Ok...Can I make a little aside to the Pens here for a moment? What is with us and these dark topics? Really. Apocalypse. Sacrifice. Mistakes. Would it kill us to throw in a week about puppies or something? I mean I get that Halloween is coming up, but seriously, it’s enough to make me miss the erotica posts. 


L.G.C. Smith said...

Whoa. Viggo and a puppy. SO much better. :)

Martha Flynn said...

Don't worry, Adrienne. I'm gonna take reaaalllll good care of Viggo come Apoc time.

toni in florida said...

unless that puppy is sizing you up as puppy chow for post-apocalyptic noshing!

Rachael Herron said...

I love this. Thank you. I needed that.

Sophie Littlefield said...

you make me lauuuuuuuuuughhhhhh
i love cute little beagle puppies *and* crusty rotting flesh
and it's a cinematic miracle that they made viggo look that unappealing

Unknown said...

Only you would put a scary Viggo and a cute puppy in the same post and make it work!

Adrienne Bell said...

Can we at least all come together, regardless of our views on the end of the world, and wish Viggo a happy belated birthday. We missed it by one day.

Martha - If he does make it, it'll be shame that I'm dead and gone. I have a feeling that I would have to literally be the last woman on earth before he'd look at me. Oh, well.

L.G.C. Smith said...

Adrienne, you big goob, you're beautiful and smart and funny and Viggo would totally look at you NOW. I can see we have some work to do here. Besides, why would you want Viggo when you have Tom? I've long suspected Viggo has questionable hygiene habits when left to his own devices. He slides into grubby roles a little too smoothly.

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