Maelstrom

To some, this is a view of an idyllic small town square, with Christmas lights illuminating a cool night, with a snow flurries silently descending all around. To some, it would be a picturesque example of the “quintessential America” is across the Midwest.
However, the residents of this tiny burg know the truth.

As the relentless onslaught of snow (the locals refer to it as “the spite of the gods”) poured down upon them, the citizens, in what has become typical fashion, fundamentally changed. Crisis effects people in different ways—some rise up, and become confident, surviving leaders. Some withdraw on themselves and collapse under the weight of depression and loss of hope. Others, and this is the group that we find ourselves facing tonight, turn their fear into blind rage, and their madness overruns into the streets, spreading chaos. Our city is under siege by this third group.

As the smoke from numerous fires wafts through the air, and only a few buildings in this once-tranquil town remain standing, panic has begun to set in. To the naysayers who are shouting, “it’s only flurries,” and “It’s only been snowing for two hours,” you have obviously never withstood the maelstrom which is non-accumulating flurries, and would never understand what that does to people.
Our town, if it can be called that anymore, is in ruins. It’s populace began turning on itself mere minutes after that first cold and white, fluffy demon dropped upon it. There are rumors (unverified, mind you), that people have resorted to cannibalism to survive. And, to add to the chaos, the town’s Taco Bell had been closed for the week before the first snowfall; knowing that no Doritos Locos 12-pack boxes could be gotten, in the mad dash for survival, was the weight that tipped the scale in favor of disaster. It was obvious from the start, that this was not going to end well.

Lone survivors continue to straggle into our refuge here on the square. We have braced ourselves against the bitter cold and oppressive snowfall by going the extra step of closing our door, and standing on the INSIDE of a building, away from the cold and dreaded white drops. It has preserved a small segment of sane people, who one day will hope to rebuild here. But with each small group that finds its way here, rumors of a safe haven elsewhere have prompted a search party to go out. Some place the locals are calling “Terminus,” with the promise of safety, food and warmth. Sometimes, hope is necessary for survival. But false hope can destroy lives. We pray for their safety as they head out into the dreary white abyss.

I am writing this in the hopes that someone out there, outside the badlands, where people have not lost their minds and they are not clinging to scraps of existence, will read this. That they will read this, and remember what happened here. And, instead of making a mad dash to the store as it begins to happen, inciting the real life version of “The Purge 4: Wal-Mart Bread Aisle,” that they will learn to survive on stored beef jerky that they purchased months ahead of time, and no one finds reason to stab someone over the last tin of tuna. Save yourselves! Learn from our mistakes! Our friends to the north have tried, for many years, to get us to understand that snow can be a glorious thing. Alas, their pleas fell on deaf ears.

We will not give up! I, and the few remaining survivors will hold out, until the lights go dim for the last time, or until there are no more protein shakes in the fridge, and the last of the vending machine has been plundered. We will not go silently into the night! For, as long as there is a will to survive and carry on, there will always be life. Perhaps not here in Bolivar, as our demise seems certain, but to those reading this in the unaffected areas (or those who have a modicum of common sense in the winter months), I shout with loud voice, “Carry On!” The world will know of our bravery, in the face of such unspeakable horror.

Here in Bolivar, we do not dream of a white Christmas…nay, we shrink in horror at the thought of it. Keep your Christmas carols to yourselves, as we sing the lamentations of our people, lost to history. Perhaps some day, science (or human error), will come up with a way to heat the Earth so much that we will never see temperatures drop low enough to allow for these tiny frozen atomic bombs to incinerate our existence. I will pray that day comes soon. Not for us, as it is too late—but for those who come after us.

Farewell