[random images in my head that I just jotted down this morning]
The fall leaves blew in, swept slowly into the cave where he had gone to escape. He had been there for perhaps 3 or 4 nights, he couldn't
It was very cold, and damp, but not unbearable. There was no snow in this part of the world generally, just cold, damp and rain. Occasional
He had left his home due to an increasing sense of pressure, coming from 'the outside world,' that is, society, finance, culture and mankind in
Anyone who knew of his exodus (he told perhaps 2 people so that no one would look for him and bother him), laughed at him and told him he was crazy.
'There is no societal collapse coming! You're nuts! The markets are the best they have ever been, unemployment is down, and I am even paying less
taxes! Why the hell are you selling your house and cutting and running? Running from what?'
He had to agree, at face value, that there was nothing wrong. He had a fine job, some money saved, he wasn't starving, and his health and community
were if anything, at least average. But still, he couldn't escape this nagging feeling that it was all going to POP! sometime soon.
This feeling of pressure weighed heavily on his psyche and his spiritual life.
He had often felt he had some kind of intuition stronger than his contemporaries.
So it was, he gathered everything he owned into a large pack, cash and supplies included, sold his house, and trekked off into the wilderness near the
There in the wooded mountains, one cold wet morning, he awoke in his sleeping bag suddenly as he heard a loud explosion. It sounded like it came from
the edge of the town.
He ran his hand along his grizzly face, grabbing his rifle, pack and canteen and ran out of the cave to see what he could see. There was a large
plume of black smoke coming from the edge of the forest, perhaps 15 kilometers on the horizon, framed in by mountains and pine trees. He thought
perhaps a gas station had exploded.
Just then another explosion occurred farther away, which he could not see, but it echoed off the granite hills in small successions, in small pops.
Then a tiny plume of smoke. Perhaps a power plant?
Overhead, coming from his 8 o'clock, suddenly 2 jets roared by, extremely loud and low. They were painted a dull dark green. 'Not ours...' he
He ensured his traces had been swept and he made his way deeper into the mountains.
The sky was darkening and it was going to rain soon.
edit on 31/10/2019 by chris_stibrany because: typo
edit on 31/10/2019 by chris_stibrany because: typo-s..sorry