An apocoliptic vision.
I abandoned my motorcycle and began to walk through the grounds, morbidly staring at the piles of debris hoping, and at the same time hoping not to recognize some flash of familiarity, a piece of clothing, anything amidst the human rubble torn and tossed about with such despicable disrespect. I began to ache. I was in an area of dense radiation fallout and was beginning to feel its initial effects. My joints began to stiffen and swell and movement became painful. My skin felt brittle, as if it would crack under the gentlest of caresses. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, and I doubted I could talk even if I could find words to express what I was feeling. And ultimately, I realized that this had never truly been a search. I had simply come to die with my family. At some point, tears came.
The grand Genesee Gorge Skyway, a pedestrian walk that had spanned the gorge, now ended at mid-river, over three hundred feet above the water. I made my way to the edge, moving slower with each step. I wasn’t second-guessing my decision, only taking those last moments to put my affairs in order.
In a loving cascade I remembered my wife, my children, my family and friends. I remembered cherished events, historical events public and private. I remembered things I had done and things I had hoped to do. And then I cursed. I cursed it all. I cursed those who had done this. I cursed those who had driven those to do this. I cursed all who could have stopped this. I cursed all those who had made this possible. I cursed, I cursed, I cursed.
At last, standing at that very edge, looking neither up nor down, I fell forward, with eyes closed, accepting the ultimate disappointment, the eternity of empty oblivion shackled to those who die having abandoned the myth of God.
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