Tagged: religion

In the Beginning

Dear Planet Earth,

The horror and confusion from that first day seems like a lifetime ago. It’s only been a week, but I still feel like an old man remembering the days we searched throughout the city for our presumably kidnapped comrades, defiantly holding on to hope and a “leave no man behind” mentality.


We shouted their names from a Jeep we stole. We used to use the word “stole” back then.


Malls, gas stations, restaurants. We raided any place we thought had the slightest chance of having our friends; all the while, foraging, storing for the upcoming fruitless manhunt we all knew (but never admitted) was coming.


Apparently, Mrs. Bing’s first name was Margaret. It echoed along the empty streets of Los Angeles as the uncaring sun baked us from above.

“Mr. Ozawa!”

Finally, a clue. A tire track from our transport truck — fresh and southbound, if Lieutenant Halston’s tracking skills could be believed. And back in the beginning, we were willing to believe anything that could bury away an ugly truth.


Dear Planet Earth,

I’m feeling less overwhelmingly depressed today. The pain is still there, throbbing with its own distinctive pulse, but I’m learning to ignore it.

Thank God or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster that someone found this new netbook for me. I’ve been able to distract myself with cartoons and cat videos on YouTube. It’s no morphine, but I’ll take it.

One of the nurses said General Talpa and the rest of my merry band of mole men killers are on their way back here to regroup. I’m excited to find out what’s going on out there, if they know any more about our future masters and how to stop them.

I’m excited and apprehensive. And slightly abandoned. And did I mention in unbelievable pain?

The End of the Beginning of the End

Dear Planet Earth,

It’s happening. Whatever all this was — the earthquakes, the media blackout, the kidnapping — it’s all led to this moment.

The drill’s starting to open and the seismic vibrations have erupted into an audible high-pitched whine. The homeless mercenaries, presumably with Martha among them, are cheering, shaking their weapons and signs. A couple of soldiers have already deserted, and I’d have been tempted to go with them if I didn’t have a personal investment to see this through to the end. I also wasn’t invited.

I found Dr. Eimer in the base’s makeshift chapel just now. He was on his knees, hands clasped together in the direction of two pieces of plywood shaped like a cross. I walked to his side as silently as I could.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, Scott.”

I contemplated kneeling next to him and quickly sorted out the awkward events that might follow, but he interrupted my thoughts before I could do anything.

“They’re not supposed to have any specific religious symbols on bases embroiled with foreign enemies.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. I didn’t really want to get into a political discussion with my friend as the world was literally crumbling around us.

“But if this isn’t a church, God can’t blame me for drinking here.”

He flashed me a sheepish smile and I took note of the empty whiskey bottle between his legs.

“When my wife died . . . I found her buried under the remains of our kitchen. When my wife died, I asked myself over and over, ‘Why, why, why?’ to no one in particular.” He touched the corner of his eye. “I stopped believing in God before I was even your age. It felt . . . right. But it doesn’t make anything any easier.”

I helped him up and we stumbled back together to the last bachelor pad we’ll ever have. He’s snoring right now, in between random sobs of “Why, why, why?”

Events Occur in Real Time

Dear Planet Earth,

I’m slowly but surely gathering more information about our latest guest on base here. Dr. Eimer let me know I was correct in assuming she’s one of the countless homeless mercenaries piling up outside the fences. He also told me that after hours of grueling “interrogation,” we know that her name is “Matha.” And that’s it.

I’m going to pretend to ignore the hours of Guantanamo Bay-like screaming I heard last night and say that this situation falls under the ticking clock scenario that can only be solved by God or Jack Bauer. I’m not going to contemplate the morality or politics of it. I’m not sure if there’s still even a government left to complain to if I wanted.

Outside, things are only getting more tense. More and more homeless people are coming everyday. They look hungry and ready for war, even if they all do look like they’re smiling.