It’s true, I inhale vapors of the plague every day. Every orifice I
was given to inspect or preserve life, takes in the ubiquitous virus, and
my mind and my heart and my lungs boil with the illness.
My skin shows the wear. Even the shape of my body has degraded. There is
paunch were I used to be thin. I am emaciated in areas, where I used to
have muscle. My spine seems to be curving in on itself. I’m a product of
de-evolution. That’s what this sickness does. It gives you the mind and
body of an ape. A jaundice-skinned sparse-haired ape.
I watch the news. I look out the window. No one seems to care. They walk
around pushing strollers and taking their garbage to the curb. But
they’re all dying. They’re watching each other die. They don’t even
The media encourages the illness by speaking close to the ape level. And
it keeps getting closer. Someday only grunts will come from the television
and radio and by then this society will be grunting along, forgetting that
there was ever another way.
I fight every day to retain my soul. A soul in a soulless place. A place
of filth. The women are beautiful and bra-less—perhaps they wear nothing
but what is shown—but they don’t stop. They flutter by, announcing
their beauty, but it is an evil maneuver. It is a starving man being
forced to stare at a fine buffet. All of the succulent morsels are
reserved for others. The meat and skin and nourishment are paraded by your
cell. You cling to the bars, taking in the sight and smell—begging with
your eyes—but it all passes by.
That is one of the ways they fight the soul.
I can defend my body, by limiting my contact with the plague-infested
citizens. I can defend my mind against the onslaught of ignorance that the
television tries to numb me with. I have even retained my sense of humor.
It may be a cynical and dark sense of humor, but any sense of humor is
proof of the soul.
The other day the television said: A common household product is
killing thousands throughout the nation, and you could be next. Details at
I can’t remember a time that I laughed harder than that. I really
think I laughed for 3 days. I would forget about it, then I would remember
and start laughing all over again.
Then there was another time I was watching a nature show. At the end of
the show they asked for viewers to write letters, about what they would
like to see. I sat down and wrote a letter, with a false name of course.
I wrote: I am very interested in procreation. Could you have a show
graphically re-creating dinosaurs having sex?
It was hilarious. I kept the letter for a couple of days so I could read
it again, off and on.
I retain my sense of humor. I retain my soul. It’s just me in this
soulless pit of damnation. I am wilted, beaten, almost crippled. I
haven’t made eye-contact with the rest of the creatures in years. They
are even more beautiful today, than they used to be. They are beautiful
and fit, despite their infections. They don’t fight the disease like I
do: They inhale it, calmly—even pleasurably. They accept it without
question. They allow it to envelope every facet of their beings. Still,
they walk around with energy and a glow about their skin, and the
permanent grin of ignorant bliss.
There is someone at the door.
"Go Away! Go Away!"
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