Between the Blue and the Black

The hardest times come before nautical twilight, so to speak, when you think you see a hint of light. The worst is when the mist hides the grass and the sand.

You try not to sleep in the day, because that is when you can get the most stuff done. You have to move, find salvage, siphon off gas, locate propane, find fresh water sources. At night you'd like to sleep, but there's the touch on the doorknob, the scratching at the windowpane. So you pace, try to read. No more videos, no more radio. Take batteries and other power sources from Home Depot and make them stretch.

Fry the kielbasa, spice it heavily and ignore the fact that it is turning. Scour the neighborhood, ignore the bodies that may not be bodies, watch for other wolves in the walls, rats in the cracks. When do you cross the line? Is killing and eating a dog the line? How about your dog? What happens when you make the decision about people.

When do you cross the line and become what you are trying to avoid?

(With thanks to Vonda N. McIntyre for some words that have haunted me since she first used them. And, yes, I'm still reading too much Neil Gaiman and now I'm thinking about reading too much Tim Powers.)

(Text copyright 2008 by F.P. Kiesche III. All rights reserved.)