The Bomb — The Black Signal

Have you ever heard a fire alarm in the middle of the day and felt relief? Not fear for your safety, just a sigh of relief that the daily routine is broken – the preprogrammed tedium that makes wind-up anatomy toys think they’re real. None of the living want to admit a tiny pang of relief in the wake of the Bomb. Don’t have to go to that job you hate, today. Don’t have to watch that game show that bores you, tonight. Whose fingers haven’t itched once or twice while passing a fire alarm? I’m certainly guilty, Chuck.

The dead are even more relieved. They no longer have to pretend they are individual entities, rather than carbon tumours growing on the planet. Sentience is an illusion created by primitive sensory organs. Maintaining a lie is a strain. It makes real contentment impossible. Just walk onto any metro train – they can’t even look each other in the eyes. Death works overtime trying to wipe away the lie.

I know that down deep, in your heart of hearts, you feel a little relief, Chuck. It’s alright, I don’t judge. I understand. I really do.

But THEY don’t.

See you, Chuck …