Rollin' Like Sisyphus

Take Me Back To San Berdu

Posted in A Chronicle Of Decline by Huckleberry on December 2, 2015

There’s not much thread left to unravel from the Great Sweater of Western Civilization. Here I was, halfway through writing a post how I failed abysmally to finish and turn in my story for Swords of Darkness, and on the nature of the dead weight churning through the American university system and my wonderment that anyone should be surprised given that 1) women outnumber men in both students and faculty and 2) the pipe for this has been laid incrementally for a long, long time, but there I was, halfway through that post, when the klaxons rang out and the lights turned red and Majel Barret declared “RED ALERT” in a voice sounding much too alarmed for a computer, and turns out there’s been another shooting, pretty much in my back yard.
So that post can simmer on the sideburner for a bit.
Another shooting, about 30 miles from where I sit as the crow flies, and I note that only because DESPERATE liberals on Twitter and the TV are tracking how many Planned Parenthood facilities are in a 100 mile radius of the incident site, and I’m not exaggerating in the slightest. Despite the media’s best attempts to turn reports of three “Middle-Eastern or Hispanic” men into one white man, the police are not co-operating, because this strike team, and I feel comfortable calling them that, got away. No standoff. No suicide. No raging gunbattles in the street.
Poof.
Gone.
I noted on Facebook that it’s damned easy to disappear in San Bernardino, a slum city surrounded on all sides by the vast empty desert where bikers make meth and cartels mule cocaine. You can off the main road in a matter of minutes, and far away from anything that would register on a Garmin. From there, you can get anywhere, if you happen to be driving an off-road 4×4, such as the GMC Yukon that the suspects were seen in while fleeing the scene.
BUT.
There is also a lot of chatter about a Sayed Farook, who worked at the facility that was shot up, acted “nervous” and “weird” all morning around his co-workers, then disappeared about 20 minutes before shooters came in hot. At the very least there is some component of an inside job to this, though usually a team of three shooters isn’t operating on the Disgruntled Postal Worker MO. But maybe. We’re at the point in the play, past the second intermission, where the characters in the story know their end is near on some subliminal level, because the writer can’t but help to write it that way, dénouements being what they are, and so it’s time to go all in or cash out for more and more people.
All is, sadly, proceeding as I have foreseen.

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One Response

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  1. El Borak said, on December 2, 2015 at 16:45

    If you can convert the story to post-apocalyptic, I hear she’s publishing another anthology in March. Count me out of that, most likely. It’s not that I’m not looking forward to a world without hashtags and Patreon, it’s just that my literary talents are, well, not very broad. Nor deep, but that’s another issue altogether.

    But on the shooters, yeah, this is not the one that makes Americans afraid. We still expect this to be a one-off. And so we’ll thank God THAT will never happen again and go on with the Christmas shopping.

    The day a critical mass of Americans stop thinking that the last one was, well, the last one, then it’s gonna get ugly.

    “But that is not my doing,” said Saruman. “I merely foretell.”


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