We're nearly at the stage of buying the various transportation tickets and hire-cars. I've gone over my checklist of personal items, clothing and other travel necessities that I'm going to need.
Feeling somewhat detached from the group as I mentally prepare for this part of the journey. Being from another part of the planet I'm seen as the foreigner, the roamer. They're all attached to their city, their homes, and their safe environments. I left that long ago, and escaped to a new life. I arrived here with minimal baggage - a small backpack and personal ghosts. They've got their lives weighing them down and they don't even know it. I wonder how easy it's going to be for them when the time comes and there's no turning back. Are they going to snivel and whimper at fate's feet? Is there going to be guilt and remorse flying around? Or are they going to step up and drop the shit?
In a way it's like they are using me to distance themselves from the mission. Distance themselves from the very human emotion that genocide brings up in the pit of your stomach.
Nobody else rose to the occasion. I felt the stares and looks of judgment when I took the task. As if they all thought I was the callous one; I was the heartless freak.
Only a week or so of traveling and then I'm back. Back to reality and back to the group. They can all envy me as I tell them of the final days of each city; one of the last of our group to go where the virus will soon wreak havoc.
I'm feeling a bit humbled by the honour. Never thought that would happen. Not like I give a shit about the empires we've built, or the magnitude of man's reach on this planet. But to be the one instrumental in bringing it all down: God that feels good.
Crack! and our concrete idols crumble.
Bang! and our world dies.
DAY TWELVE...
Sunday, May 2, 2010
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