My Visions of Global Nuclear War”

(Exerpt from "The Good War"©)

by “The Man with More Lifes than a Cat”. W. D. Evans.

 

In spite of my never ending fear of dying at War, since it was hated War that slaughtered my father, brother and now my best friend, to save all I love, I have no other choice but to become an Arctic Secret Agent, battling Lies, Spies and Wild Beasts to discover the secret to Stop Global Nuclear War.

 

As my journey ever northward into the dark and frigid Artic begins, overpowering fear of the unknown saturates my struggling mind. I fight to suppress these agonizing visions of the sights, sounds and smells of a world doomed to catastrophic destruction if I fail in my mission to protect all I love from our enemy. Visions of the stupidity of Global Nuclear War and its violent ending explode in my ever weakening mind. As real as life and death itself, my eyes feel the burn of the disastrous dissolving of the world I love, in a pool of boiling blood. Only the strongest concrete structures are still left standing. They are now just an empty shell, raped of anything inside that could be engulfed by the 1000 degree flames devouring both man and machines.

 

Now that the Hurricane winds and the roar the demon of scorching death are over, I am overcome by deafening silence. No cries for help. No screams of agonizing pain from burning throats. No stench of rotting bodies or even burning flesh, for at this temperature even the remaining bones of the lucky ones are instantly disintegrated. The fine dust of loved ones alive, just seconds ago, now cremated, begins to block out the sun and permeates each breath I struggle to salvage, from the remnants of human remains and civilization.

 

Yes, these dead are the lucky ones. It’s the poor souls that survive just a few miles beyond ground zero that must suffer the most. Burnt flesh roll off their naked bodies as sheets of spring rain off a just cleaned window. They will soon die a painful, agonizing death. Still further from the center from Hell, others feel the patterns of their clothing that survived the flashing heat, now fused into their, backs, arms and disfigured faces. They pray for the gift of death, but it may not come tomorrow, next week or even next year, but it will truly come as the insides of their human form decomposes, eaten away by the plague of radiation poisoning.

 

High in the heavens looms the gift of the giant mushroom grown in the polluted soil of greed, selfishness and stupidity of all mankind. Now that the Hurricane winds and the roar the demon of scorching death are over, I am overcome by the deafening silence. Have all those that are to die now left this earth and their voices are never to be heard again, or is it the destruction of my eardrums blown apart by the concussion bellowing from this giant mushroom of human folly? From those once great leaders still alive, in my bones, I feel their voices shouting to the heavens,

 

“Oh GOD,
“I pray we could go back in time and stop this Terrible Nuclear Holocaust before it ever started”.

 

Can One Lone Soul Alter the Destiny of the Entire World?

 

Only our own decisions can determine our yet to be written future.

 

 

"Those who Ignore History are Doomed to Repeat it.”
Edmund Burke 1729-1797