The Gatherers came in the dead of night.
They don’t need touch, they don’t need sight.
Button your lip and make no sound
For the Gatherers have come to town.
It’s hard for us to piece it all together. Where we are now. What we’ve lost. But as hard as it is, it’s vital that we do, because every story is one of a finite number we have left.
The Gatherers came. You woke up and this was the world. And say all you want about the one left behind – with its complacency, detachment, its increasing isolation – but say it knowing that without those faults you wouldn’t be saying anything. Because you have to admit it’s ironic; that those with their heads up their arses are the ones who have lasted the longest, and those who fought to reverse those trends – who raged against our annihilation – they were the first to fall. Ironic that such compassion would be their undoing.
I didn’t love her, the girl I was with. This isn’t one of those stories. I would have liked to have gotten to know her enough for that, but that’s a different world. I was there because she had dragged me there and she was hot enough to do it without me complaining.
Sometimes I’m glad she did. If she hadn’t I might have been with friends, or would have called my family and tried to rendezvous. And sometimes I wish I could. In my darkest moments, sometimes I wish I could just run to someone, anyone, and embrace them and end it all. In my darkest moments… I’ve been so close to that…