35

This was the cave that many had ran to for no other reason other than the news anchor popping a PCP tablet or two and making shit up as the marquee ran below his chest on the television. That goddamn television is reason for the season and fucking it all to hell, man. That was years ago, and the after effects had long since worn off, but I could finally go through what was left behind and examine artifacts lost to reason and reliability.

I mean, really, who the fuck would lug a bandsaw all the way up here?

You couldn't make this shit up. I set my bag down and kicked through a pile of debris until a doll's arm showed itself for the first time in years. I rummaged around and brought it closer to my dirty brow, having a moment of emotion I wouldn't dare have in public. I thought about its owner, either dead before the end or the victim of having some asshole of a sibling who thought it would be great to hide the one thing that make for a fuck during this time.

I put the doll in my bag. I stood there staring at the flap and decided against this theft. I took the doll out and put it on top of the pile, hoping that if for some reason the kid lived, she'd find it.

Then I thought that maybe the kid was a boy, and that made me feel all the worse. Given a time of uncertainty, a boy chose the one thing that wasn't expected of him to care about; there wasn't anything else to latch onto.

Then I thought maybe the boy's dad was some hard-ass that didn't want his son playing with dolls, and that made me all the more pissed.

I camped that night in the cave, keeping the fire low as to not attract strangers.

I woke up the next morning, ate my rations, and set off towards the nearest town to burn it to the ground.

34

I couldn't watch television anymore, so I promptly sold it for a vial of green goo that was supposed to make it so that when god made his monthly appearance, I wouldn't grab hold of his tie and try to swing him around. The shit was supposed to work for 6-10 minutes without interruption. If you were properly stretched and warmed-up, it could last longer. That, and a proper diet, will get you a great pile of shut your fucking mouth with a please and thank you k thx dickhead.

It was time to see my first patient anyways.

On the docket we had Jimbo Baby Carnes, whose symptons consisted of shitting idols in the shape of a cross of a Smurf and a canteloupe. I told him he was fine, keep taking care of your kids, never mind what the wife says, and in the end, the kids will know you did good. He left, but not without scribbling "BONER" on the wall with a crayon. "I feel good, dude!"

I closed shop and started work on my next post-apocalyptic novel, but realized I was typing the evening news word for word.

Hope no one minds.

33

"SIT UP STRAIGHT, YOU ASSHOLE! TYPE IN THE DARK!"

I totally didn't need to be here.

"AND FOR FUCK'S SAKE, PUT THE GODDAMN OVERALLS AWAY! NO FIELD WORK! NO FIELD WORK! *NO* *FIELD* *WORK*!"

Okay, so by sitting in this class, naked, with the rest of the imbeciles who weren't fast enough to escape the onslaught of the new government's armed forces, staring at my cock, stylus in hand, tablet on desk, learning about the the preamble to the new constitution that *I* fucking wrote. None of the colonels gave a shit; they figured it would boost morale if at least *one* student got an A in the class and wrecked the curve.

So, I did just that. After aceing the mid-term, I quietly packed my things and set fire to them. My roommate, a Mr. Ian Fletch Jennings, set fire to himself as well, hoping I would stay to put him out and apply a salve, but I opted to forage in the wild for food and clothing, and do just that for as many years as it took for the people to overthrow the new regime.

But it never happened. Oh, you can walk down Corridor St. without a weapon and nobody will bother you, but they won't even look at you should you ask for the time. "Time has little meaning here, son," they'd say. "I mean, look at the city hall. It never moves!"

Can't argue with that.

32

The sun surprised me. More that it caught me off guard. Emerging from prison. Again.

You know, it wouldn't be such a big deal if they didn't actually keep me on display out by the main entrance. Anybody that I had relations with for more than 3 days would stop by, stare vacantly into the plastic divider between them and me, blaze up a smokable drug, and finish with a twitch of the eyebrows and a spit on the ground. Not a word was ever traded.

The halfway house I was assigned to was missing a lot, namely other people. I had the run of the place in which to turn it into a place of worship, never specifying the denomination. Nobody came. Not because of the inherent confusion, but because I had mined the front lawn.

I figure, hey, if they care enough, they'll try.

It wasn't until much later I realized that everyone had better things to do, namely combat the massive amount off radiation that was headed towards us all due to some technician not getting laid by his wife, but not wanting to cheat, so being in the moral stalemate he was, he promptly threw a bowling ball into a crucial part of Reactor #8. It was one of the few things he had bought for himself. Everything else he spent on her.

It was nice that nobody was begging me to bail their asses out again. Really.

But it's nice to feel wanted. Sometimes.