TOMORROW BLACK
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Broadcasting across the region of the damned…..via, Remote Station X (RSX)
"Good morning America!"
"Wake up, it's time to die."
"You like that one America? I found it fitting. Dark, demonstrably demoralizing, and dangerously direct. Three D's for this damned difficult day. Did I mention its fitting? I remember hearing an old Sci-Fi flick used the same line in much the same way in a time, long, long ago. Life comes at you fast, and it's over all too soon. Especially these days. But are we truly alive? What the hell is living if you're here one moment, gone the next? You ain't even around long enough to think it all over. To indulge in the concept of life's grand operation. To taste the sweet fruits in blessing, and to remember the pangs of sorrow in misfortune. That brief moment in time, certainly gives a whole new meaning to living your best life. Doesn't it?
I mean, what's it all for now?
If it's not the marauders terrorizing the land, stealing, killing, destroying…. it's some thick, overbearing, barreling black cloud blotting out the daylight, dusting the ground with its black ash, zealous in its intent on rotting you to the core. That inky black terror is killing everything that lives as it passes.
Or maybe it's a pack of the hungry dead, seeking to marry their angry jaws with your tender flesh, a union made in hell, shearing the lively meat from your bones. Filling their dead bellies with what used to be yours! You, even!
And you're just trying to make it.
...or worse still...ghosts. Yes, they exist. Don't let anybody out there tell you they don't! Hiding from you everytime you look their way. Cloaking themselves in the peripheral corners of your sight, hiding in hopeful doubt. Or crossing the distance between you and peace each time you turn away. Inching closer every time.
Quick! Look out behind you!
Watching them seems to be the only way to keep 'em still. Do everything you can to keep your eyes on them, because the moment you don't, that's when they got you. But then again, I hear the very sight of them runs the risk of turning you mad. Fucked in the head forever. The images of the forsaken etched into the back of your eyelids forever. Stay away from mirrors. They can look just like you. Don't hide in the shadows, there's nothing safe for you in them anymore.
This world has become wretchedly dark. And we thought things were bad when the lights were on. As you may walk, or drive if you're lucky enough to find gasoline, wheels or, well what else is there? There along the sidewalk is Danny. That poor wretched dead boy shambling your way hoping to snatch a piece from your American dream. But that's ok, who lives long enough to care really anyway what that dream looks like? Fancy new car? Big House in the suburbs? Any job you want. Now it really is out there for the taking.
If you're running scared, hiding at every turn, hardly living and barely surviving with a stomach that's having a heart to heart with your backbone… my friends, that's not what i call living your best life. Not at all! That's literally just counting the good seconds you have left. And separating them from the bad by a few delirious laughs here and there while you're mindlessly dehydrated or starving yourself into the open arms of a coma. And yet still if it ain't good old Danny, or young Danny, depending on what condition he was in when you found him, its that bastardized version of Big Brother shitting on the surviving man, taking him for all he's worth in the name of protection, security and buttload of empty promises. Don't believe him brothers and sisters. He's not in it for you! Do not go saluting his wicked cause. He doesn't care if you live to see another day. Not unless you're slaving away for him! Another day of what? Tyranny? Oppression disguised beneath a mask of generosity?! Believe you me, that's no masquerade ball I want to attend.
Then of course, if you're bold enough to travel far enough away from any halfass sustainable hovel, with the few friends you got, you could always go with Durango and his fiends. They'll take your homesteads one by one in a similar promise of security and the allure of wasteland reward. Wrong!
Big Brother, Dirty Durango, I'll have you know I'm quite happy right where I am in my humble little dwelling, far the fuck away from you. And I do not share your idea of sanctuary. Your blessings and good will, if you ask me, is best shared by you leaving me the fuck alone.
I'm up, with my morning cup of joe, which I'm having mind you, along with a freshly made piece of toast slathered with homemade blackberry jam. Coffee grinds and jam that I worked quite hard for. Fair and square. Thank you Bernadette, for the goodies. I'll remember to send the good boys and girls out there your way.
No, pass me on by you wicked titans of the wasteland industry. Pass me the fuck on by, im waving to you as you do though with a big ol smile on my face. And I'll be sure to let you know as I wave, that I think you're number one on this man's chart, if you know what I mean. All I need here is a bit of chat time with my rough and ready brothers and sisters out there, carving a swath through you NAG soldiers. My humble and hungry listening audience, survivors and more, and my little pal to scratch on are exactly all I need. No I'm not crazy, I'm not here alone. We all need a little something or somebody to lean on, to help us get through this mess. His name is Helmet, and he's not too shabby. A bit worrisome at times, but then again so am i. I'm sure of it. He just makes things a little easier. Makes the encroaching walls of this ah, palatial estate im in seem just a little more manageable, the closing in is just a little less each day. I hope you out there listening, have somebody. Somebody you can trust.
Speaking of which, there's a handful of somebodies out there I know I can trust. The good ones if you will. Hell they are still good, even if you wont. I Trust them to do the good thing.To fight the good fight. Let this be my morning shout out to you heroes of the day. I don't know your names, but maybe one day I will. But I know who you are, and you know, I know who you are. A little birdie tells me you're doing a lot more than just sticking it to the man where it hurts. You're raising the awareness of folks who need to hear it most. Our very own modern day warriors with mean, mean strides. You boys and girls out there keep the lead flying and I'll make sure to keep the listeners dying. Dying to hear more that is! Me? I'm not dying anybody, I couldn't kill a fly! Today, like any other, I wish you well in your journeys, and in a moment, I'll drum up some tunes to help take the edge off of this cursed event called the worries of tomorrow. At least the sun's shining, bearing down upon us with its golden rays of goodness. Illuminating oh so kindly every nasty dark corner of this very scorched fucking earth. Danny, no longer-walking dead boy, is laying there on the street now with his forever smile, soaking it all in. Tanning them wretched dry flesh covered bones. He's thinking that you suckers out there, still dipping from shadow to shadow, trying to stay ahead of the pack, got it bad. Enjoy it while you can. Survival of the fittest, grief, sorrow, certain horror, and nightmares included, you know such pleasantries do not last forever. Daylight doesn't stick around like it used to either and the nights are far too long.
That said, ill dilly-dally no further, and get you on to the news, as it were. It looks like the skies are clear tonight. Maybe a patch of cloudiness over yonder in the West Village area will keep the roads clear of any real traffic for a bit, but nothing significant, certainly nothing to seek cover over. If you're in that bleak metroplex of twisted steel and smoke, called Highfield be careful, it's even darker out there, and we all know what happens in the dark, tends to stay in the dark. If you're along the highways and byways of routes 85 and 95, enjoy smooth sailing. No trailblazing raiders out to run you and your family down and steal your shit in sight. Go ahead, ask me how I know?
I'll tell ya.
It's because I see everything!
Word came in today from my most dedicated and most appreciated sources, you know I love you. There's a stash of goodies for the wandering needy if you're in the area of Mendoza plains. I know most of the buildings in that posh little settlement tend to look alike, but there's one in particular that you need to keep and eye out for. Look for another slate gray building just like any of the rest, but with plenty of writing on the wall, if you know what I mean. You'll find what you're looking for there. Word is those who had it, no longer need it, so dig in. I'll be keeping you folks up to speed of course, pressing on as best I can. But that's all I got for now, more later."
" And now? those tunes I promised you."
The momentary silence is deafening. The sound of a sweeping wind builds up in the speakers as if those gusts were dusting the dry earth and carrying on upwards into the awaiting sky. They whip clouds into motion and compel dry leaves to join in a spiraling chaotic and energetic dance…
… As the dance continues along, it mutes the quieted day throughout the valley. Along each whiffing brief that seems to buffet the speakers, comes with it the audible thrum of guitar, and the soothing voice of Belinda Bash…one of the last of smoothe R&B's best.
I can see clearer now the pain is gone.
I can see all adversaries in my way.
Absent the black clouds that burned us down.
It's gonna be a rare (rare)
Rare, sunshining day.
It's gonna be a rare (rare)
a rare sunshining day.