A Letter to Harmonion

A vast forest of green, sun shining through branches of monstrous oak, the balmy redolence of pine, the sonorous sonata of sparrows would be nothing but lifeless bytes. Endless fields of concrete, violent rays of light emanating from a harvest of monitors, the metallic aroma of electric life, insufferable processing tones would permeate this technological world. A world like this would last as long as a mosquito in a DDT factory. Our existence will perish and cease to exist or succumb to the technology and become these computers themselves; humanity would be lost, everything would be lost. A world without nature is a world without life. 

Mr. Gier, the project you have green lit will doom the world. The blood of millions, human and nature’s, will be on your hands. This is not a threat, but a warning. The world you seek to fabricate is a world that should never be. My existence, my family’s existence, the existence of all people should be spent in reality not in some virtual construct. In response to your insane proposal, I have arranged a colony caravan to transport those unwilling to succumb to your tyranny and digital wasteland. May the darkness your heart has welcomed devour you.

The Seasons of You…

Hard to say what the year was… summertime for sure, 9am… that’s when my shifts started, just like everyone else… open to close for 4 years… I remember it so vividly, her first day. All the shoppers walked by with sun kissed skin wearing shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops except her… her skin was milky white and she wore a sheer red dress that showed off everything but nothing at all. Among the other employees, she was a rose in a garden of weeds. She was so stunning. Passerbys practically broke their necks as they walked by to steal a glance at her perfection. I just knew she would do well at the Contempo Casuals, her fresh sense of style brought people in by the dozens. There was no way a girl like that would ever give me, a faceless nobody, the time of day. 

As the months went on, so did my obsession. Every moment awake, there she was flaunting her beauty. The agony, the pain it brought me knowing I could never have her, I could never know her touch, I could never share with her my feelings, my desires. The following Spring is when it finally happened, when it all changed and when she noticed me. Confused by what was going on, I couldn’t see my coworkers anywhere… the store was practically empty save for me and one register. A man in a jumpsuit, grabbed me and tied me to a hand truck. Still in shock by what was happening, I knew I would never get a chance like this again… As I passed her I yelled to her exclaiming my love for her, how often I thought about her, and how she will always be the one… I tried so hard to yell, to scream… and nothing… like me… a faceless nobody. 

From Letters of War

Dearest Grandma,

         My freedoms were stripped from my unwilling grasp and I was bound by the forces of power into this dire service. I am writing you because you are the only one that seems to care. Every morning a horn that could wake the dead blares a ghastly tune at 0500 hours on the dot. My brothers and I shuffle out of our assigned cots and dress for the tortures the day will bring. Jumping jacks and crunches followed by a dreadful jog around the lake is how the morning starts. Oh how I have learned to hate that lake. It is a painful reminder of what comes next and a tease of what never will. Just once I would like to jump in it alone.

         I knew the food would be bad, but I wasn’t prepared for the slop I ingest each day. Yesterday, Sammy threw up so much that he popped a blood vessel in his eye and got a medical discharge. But word got back that his father was ashamed and embarrassed that his son couldn’t serve his full term. I say that bastard is lucky, most of us will not make it out of here in one piece. After chow time, we are expected to train with both primitive and modern killing tools. I suppose it is important for us to be able to defend ourselves from any threat by any means necessary. No matter the amount of training, the ranks from across the lake slay us every afternoon on our own terf. Whoever said war was Hell, never went to summer camp. 

With love, 

                     Your favorite grandson.

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