Rwrinesurrection Hill: By Bob Mitchley Another sleepless night, exactly what I get for watching SI FI before bed. The result of this is was my sleep deprived brain churning and rolling like a river log under the cleated feet of a lumber jack. How horrific! It seemed so surreal, at any other time of day I could have shut the detestable images out of my mind, but not this night. Night time is when real fear latches onto the weakest neuron in your brain and wrings it tight, tighter, till … your worst nightmare seems all too real. I have felt all along that we have been forewarned many times of a probable doomsday apocalypse, through futuristic movies such as Mad Max, along with gloom and doom news events exploding Worldwide. My Psycho analysts say this causes internal stress to build up, which can only be diffused by attending another 75.00 an hour session. “Oh, and could I maybe pay for my next session in advance… just in case, you know!” His last words helped to cast a bleak shadow over me of what is to come. I can remember my junior high school history teacher telling us about the “World clock.” How it was one minute from striking midnight and once it did, it would be all out chaos… the end of the world as we know it! So I wrote this poem… Way off in the distance a distress call can be heard. It comes from who knows where? But its warning is carried on wind by a fidgeting little bird. There is something eerie lingering close at hand… Something the deer and our pets can’t see, but still understand. So board up your windows and doors and be disturbed! Store up and heap up food in jars. And if you flee, watch out for other swerving panic-driven cars. Change is coming; even now it’s on its way. Could come as sonic thunder or as volcanic snow… prepare your house now! Cause it’s out of our control!! Resurrection Hill Our last home: There we were; Thousands of us gathered on top of “Resurrection hill.” Friends and family alike, and others who were not like us at all. But we all came with one common duty to carry out. Every one of us had picks and shovels. Government issue of course. We all had to dig pits. These pits were not to hide in, and they were not going to be dug for our protection either… they were going to be our graves. All around the country our federal government allotted plots of land for the purpose of “Finalizing,” as they called it. Millions of people were responsible for their own sanitary disposal. Pets included. Of course it cost each person 250.00 dollars, tax was included, but of course, it was nonrefundable. At the onset, when we first arrived on the hill, we told the children this large gathering was going to be like a two day party event. But, I think they knew better. After my pit was dug, I franticly scrambled, looking for a piece of plywood to place over my hole. If I didn’t have a top, I could be fined for unsanitary default, and that’s the last thing I needed hanging over my head. I asked around, but no one had anything to spare that would work for me. I forgot my lid because of that darn dog of mine. He’s the main reason I forgot a top, and was running late. Most days I don’t even feel like putting up with him. But, it’s the two of us now. So, true to the times we live in, I gave up looking for any kind of cover for our pit. Yeah, all of your pets had to go in the pit with you. Benny is my last best friend on earth… My only friend, but he is of little help to me on this day. It took all of my strength to tug and pull Ben down into the pit after I had it dug. It was like pulling a bronze dog statue…with all fours digging in, plowing paw furloughs right up to the edge of our pit. I think even Ben knew the outcome to all this madness. At least I remembered to bring a pillow and a small snack. As we laid there shivering, pelted by freezing rain, Ben’s head on my chest, I could hear him whimper. I heard other pets also, all around us. They all sensed what was coming, they knew all along! Just like the time when I was sad after Grammy had died, Benny knew. He placed his head on my leg, as I sat at the desk writing the poem, “I’ll see you somewhere,” he sensed my sadness and wanted to help. The tension was fully heightened now, as a feeling like that of tree roots crisscrossing over us, tying us down, and then tickling us with their hairy wavers. I could hear F-16s flying over-head. I just knew they were headed to the Colorado bunkers, the ones I always heard about but never seen. They were escorting federal and celebrity socialites to their new home away from home- sanctuary. Suddenly, it was quiet, too eerie; too placid…I checked my watch one last time… Then, far off in the distance… A loud boom! Probably the missile hit was hundreds of miles away. But the percussion, a ear pounding sound all by its self, ten times louder than the sonic booms I used to hear when I was a kid. But more than just a sound… a sonic thunder wave which made your skin quiver, such as being crammed in at a rock concert, right by the amps. “It’s … I just can’t describe it, absolutely horrific, just horrific! I cracked my right eye lid for a peek, I just had to, why not, I didn’t have a lid anyway. I remembered the time a tornado was approaching our property back in 96.’ It sounded like a freight train, just like the ol’ timers always have said. But this was twice that loud with its 350 mile an hour radiant winds at 5000 degrees Fahrenheit. Fiery debris started raining down on our hill. Suddenly, birds with their plumes blown off by the radiation wind cloud, along with every species of bug that you can think of rained down on us. Dirt and soot, people were hacking and coughing up burnt pieces of lung. Horrific screams filled the dense night. Pets clawed and scratched their way out, their hides falling off in chunks, smoldering juices, mostly human refuse, saturated the crust of the earth. Each person was cooking like a meat pie inside their pit. All of exposed life was now smoldering lumps of meat… gone. Burnt to a crisp, with no chance of survival, no more life, period! The earth would be uninhabitable for 150 years or more. Then It all went black… thick comatose air filled my room as a long scroll unfurled down from heaven’s gate in front of me, with many thousands of names written in blood, some of which I recognized... Suddenly, an electric shock jolted me! I sat up gasping for fresh air… reaching out for a visible hand that wasn’t even there… Filled with fear and trembling, I prayed! A scripture verse came to me, “work while it is day, for the night will come when no man can work.” I glanced at the clock. “Shoot!” I’m running late; I got dressed and inhaled my breakfast. I had my usual, bagel and coffee. I grabbed my paper work, neatly crunching it into my flannel shirt pocket. I then leashed up Bennie and we left; not even bothering to lock the front door. I armed up my pick and shovel which I had placed on the front porch the night before and proceeded straight for Resurrection Hill. Soon to be the end! Ps. Happy digging…