Letters From The Collapse…new writing, unedited…


Oft times, I feel adrift upon a sea of untroubled waters. It’s an uneasy feeling because smooth waters never made a good sailor. Somewhere in the back of me mind, I know things are amiss. 

Amiss and Adrift, boy if that doesn’t sum up me life. The world has become a dumb place filled with stupid and ugly people. Sure, some are worth the effort, but it’s a daily challenge to find anything worth living for.

In Iraq, I had me squad. We, the rough and tumble raiders, lived and died for each other. That’s the way it should be. 

Then, I come home. The dumb are in charge and everything is going to hell in a handbasket. Common sense died a slow death by those who pontificated virtues they could not live. 

Society made themselves sheep. “You can become a sheepdog, Abe. We need warriors.” Yeah, right. The first time you tear into one of them, they dash home and hide behind mommy or the wife’s skirt. So much for manning up, or standing watch, or being fierce. 

All around me, the world has turned its back on Goodness, Kindness, Tolerance-true tolerance mind you- and other long held virtues. These virtues guided our society for thousands of years. Now, they’ve fallen out of fashion. 

“We must burn it all to the ground,” the wicked shout. “Nothing should remain from the old days. We shalt rise from the ashes stronger.”

They can’t rise out of bed and be on time to their job. They don’t have a clue about life, or how bad things could get. I fear they’re about to find out. 

I heard what happened, Jack. Everyone went separate ways, and now we’re all on the run. “Change,” they preached. “Everything must change. There can be no peace with the conservatives or the liberals or the independents. Now look at this mess.”

Your actions lit the fuse. Now we’re all going to pay. I went home to the woods. Leave me alone and never contact me again. It’s me and the dog, and from this point forward, it’s enough. 

Oh, one last thing. You wanted Sara, and now you have her. I want nothing to do with any of you. I pray that you and Sara both become riddled with some incurable disease and that your arms are too short to scratch what itches.

Timothy ‘Abe’ Karel 

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