About twenty minutes ago it occurred to me that a bath and shave may make me feel better. Because studies have shown that shaving lotion and a hairbrush kill germs. Shit, why not. It does make me feel a bit better. That and 3 tramadol, 6 ibuprofen, nasal spray and a lorazepam or two.
I'm hoping what I'm about to write is in some way interesting to someone. Last night I had the chills and was coughing like an asshole mere inches from Linda's face (made me think of Doc Holliday and "Big Nose" Kate). So I emerged from that warm bed, like a Macy's float in an updraft, naked and sick, and went into the television room, also known as the "Green Room." There I found a pen and paper, and started to write for "Last American on Earth." This is what my feverish noggin produced.
The unfamiliar horror of living in a place empty of freedom and rational law made him think of terrible suffering he'd seen; the food shortages, the brutalization of a once delicate and compassionate people, and the cheapening of life that was once seen as a treasure beyond value. Thoughts of vengeance and cruelty mocked his now dead principles and stood astride them, cackling. Besides, his oppressor was not some raving lunatic, or cold, paternalistic bureaucrat committing crimes in the name of righteousness. Instead, his oppressor was just a frightened Ursine, willing to do anything to maintain control (wouldn't you?) while his master was away. To him, it was understandable, logical even, to use violence as a tool to keep his seat of power. Otherwise, it would be visited upon him and his 1000 fold. Everyone was correctly motivated in juxtaposition for a revolution. But for now, there was no talk of attack. People moved and spoke carefully, and time passed.
It seemed that, given enough time, such an arrangement would lead us backwards to the very moment when humankind first distinguished itself from his brutal, animal ancestors. To the moment of the Divine Spark, if there was one. He wanted desperately to believe one existed in him, and not in the thing ruling him. We are God's children, all us humans. That's the ticket. If he could believe that, that God was on his side, the revolution could begin the very next moment.
Stopping the Ursine would require an equal measure of brutality. The humans were ready for it, they thirsted for it. The Ursine and his governing body would need to be killed, as would their families. Their bodies would have to be displayed in the same way human bodies were hung upside down from trees, naked, and creatively mutilated by a psychopath, for unknown crimes.
As Garrett thought of these things, a vole scurried past his door, followed by more than a few hungry, desperate people.
Bit by bit, it shall be done one day!!