Before opinions get too far entrenched in this story, the fact of the matter, the only fact: we thought he was dead.
Things weren’t meant to go the way they did, but we were angry and confused.
We threw things and yelled, each of us getting more upset by the minute.
How could they do this to us!?! The horror of what just happened haunted me much like a nightmare.
I didn’t feel like myself anymore—the experience had changed me. And not for the better.
So I thought, but of course, we are all our own worst critics. Then again, this particular criticism was pretty on target. What now?
He should refrain from orating about the crime of politicians. He was only a civilian.
But somebody needed to say something.
I just wish it didn’t have to be me.
In fact, why should it be me? With that thought, I took off, running far, far away from my responsibilities.
In the years to come, I assiduously avoided all news of the apocalypse. It didn’t have to be me, “I explained to my masseuse, “It could have been anyone.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure Jesus, whatever you say.”
Lately I’ve been getting a lot of mail telling me stuff like, “Any day now. Sell your car. Sell your house. Don’t bother having children. I don’t let it touch me.”
I don’t let anything touch me.
I am the void.
I am free.