On Oct 4, 6:43 pm, V aol.com> wrote:

I don't think someone who has been kicked off of more then 30
moderated forums is in any position to lectures anyone about being
"Toxic".

The Anti-Christ Paradox

The dead body fell into the ditch by highway 101.
Paul Wright looked around, but saw nothing. The street was empty, the
woods free of prying eyes. He wiped his arm over his forehead. This
person had been an elder in a religious watchdog group. He'd picked
Paul up, believing him to be a male prostitute. They had stopped here
for sex, to escape from the press and other inquiries. The sex had
been terrible, all fumbling, twitchy, and creepy. The calls to Jesus
during it hadn't helped either. The last straw was the hush money,
with threats of eternal torment attached. He'd accepted the money, and
shot him without sympathy. Christian Conservatives always made him
edgy and mean. Their moralistic superiority complex made him angry,
and their tactics didn't engender them to him either, always
attempting to shout down opponents and never even giving the illusion
of listening to opposing views. This made them difficult, if not
impossible to live with.
Paul scrambled up the embankment, getting mud on his dark trench coat
and patent leather shoes. He felt tired. This had been the twelfth
person he'd killed, and yet nothing had changed.
He needed to check his figures.

Time Central was deserted when he arrived.
He walked the empty corridors, listening to his echoing footsteps in
the gloom. The dust had not been disturbed for a while. He felt
lonely.
The dust caused Paul to have a short coughing fit. He leaned against a
wall until it passed. He then continued on, stopping only to check his
guinea pig. He fed the little silver Cavie some lettuce, then
continued on to the computer. It was on. The screen had cycled through
at least twenty times. He moved the mouse and the computer froze. He
cursed, pressed the power switch, and waited for the computer to
reboot. After a while, he was finally able to enter the temporal
variables. The process seemed to take forever, but finally, the result
came up.
He cursed. That wasn't the result he'd expected.
He turned, threw open the door violently, stomped down the halls,
crashed threw another door, and flung himself down onto a couch. He
let his emotions spin, until, like a whirlpool, they calmed down. He
closed his eyes, listened to his heart racing. He took a deep breath,
trying to calm himself, but failed. He opened his eyes, stared at the
ceiling.
"Unfamiliar ceiling," He said.

As he crossed the huge lobby, his steps echoing like a dull drum, he
was shocked to see Ms. Laurie standing at the door. She wore a tight
blue sweater, a brown leather jacket, and tight blue jeans. When she
saw him, she broke into a big bright smile. She moved inside, closing
the huge glass door behind her.
"Hello, Paul," She said brightly.
"Ms. Laurie," He said shortly, flatly. She scowled.
"You use to have a sense of humor," She commented.
He smirked, said "Who says I haven't?"
"Too serious, Mr. Wright."
He made to move pass her. She stepped in his path, touched his
shoulder. He looked at her blankly. She scowled, removed her delicate-
looking hand.
She said "Too serious, yes."
"Two serious," He commented.
"Far too serious," She said, shaking her golden head. She reached up
again, and before he could react, threw her arms around his neck. He
looked at her in shock.
"What.." He began.
"You need to lighten up. Even I can see that."
"But.. I thought you didn't like me, Ms. Laurie."
"Only part of the time, Mr. Wright."
"Only when I'm useful?"
She sighed, drew him closer.
"Your getting better," She breathed.
"Was I ever not?"
"Arguably before I came by."
"Only arguably."
She sighed, kissed his check. He didn't react.
"Your stressed," She whispered, "Overworked. You need a break, a
vacation."
"Vacation," He muttered, "All I ever wanted."
"So," She breathed, "How about it?"
"A Metaphysical Assassin doesn't take vacations."
"If you don't, you'll be in no condition to continue."
He moved past her, heading for the door.
"That's another part of your personality I despise," She shouted after
him, "You won't listen to reason!"
He smirked, throwing the door closed behind him violently.

Paul drove through the clogged streets of Columbia. He turned down
Bull Street, and reflected on what Ms. Laurie had said. It was true
that he was tense, far more then normal. His muscles ached. His chest
was tight. The usual stress relievers weren't working.
A car cut him off. He raved and raged all the way home.

He slipped into the shower. He just stood there, letting the water run
over and down his body. A bad day, and it wasn't over yet. In fact, it
had been a bad week. He let the water fall over him. He sighed. It
wasn't the same as last time. It was more physical this time, rather
then mental. He left the shower, and went to lie down. He closed his
eyes and saw beyond the walls of sleep.
Iridescent beings battle one another across the sea of stars.
A dark man laughs contemptuously.
Fuzzy veils crossed his eyes. A city of unnatural angles. A low
throbbing hum.
Something terrible waits to be released.
He awoke with a start. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, and went to his
computer. He surfed the web awhile, got some coffee, returned, and
checked his e-mail.
Junk mail.
A few family messages.
Posting notices from various groups.
Site changes notices.
An alert relating to posting involving fur coats.
He sighed. Instead calming him, it only served to increase his stress.
He cruised more sites, finding little of interest. He finally signed
off, and went to bed.
He had more strange dreams.

Paul sat at a table at Heartbreakers.
The lights swam over the interior, as load bass-heavy music blared
from speakers. Girls straddled the poles, gyrating wildly to the
music. Men stuffed currency into the girl's bikini bottom. Girls
approached Paul, offering a private dance, which he declined. He
sipped his vodka, watching the girls perform.
He smiled.
A dark haired girl approached him, straddled the chair before him,
displaying her privates. He nodded impulsively. She took his hand and
led him into a private room. She opened his pants, pulled his penis
out. She massaged it vigorously, licked it enthusiastically. She then
pulled it into her mouth. The sensations caused him to lean back and
sigh with pleasure.
He closed his eyes contently.

As he left the strip club, he saw a familiar figure approaching him.
She brushed her long blonde hair back.
He nodded at her, and she nodded back.
"Feeling better," She asked.
"Better," he answered. She walked up and took his arm. Paul didn't
resist as Ms. Laurie led him towards her car.
"It's only temporary," She said, helping him inside. He leaned back,
closed his eyes. His head was light. His stomach ached. He felt the
car start, felt it move.
Ms. Laurie was silent as she navigated the near-empty streets, towards
his Harbison home.
The full moon shone.

He awoke in his own bed.
Paul's head ached. His stomach was a solid lump. He wanted to get up,
but that was too painful. He lay back down, but that was too painful.
He lay there with his eyes closed, trying not to move. Turning over
didn't help. His head was clogged, like he had a cold.
He turned over to the other side again, but that felt worse. He turned
back to the other side, but it didn't help.
The rest of the night went on like this.

-Trailer

How much actually happened, how much is phantasm.

If this one doesn't scare you
You're already dead.
-Trailer, Phantasm

High mountains thunder in relief. The great clouds line the sky. White
light crushes the dark. Sounds from far away boom through. The Elder
Gods play on light silver flown from distances that could cripple the
mind. Light waves transport pols the lanes, feeble feelers in the
night-light. Hybrids point the way, the Earth comes close but no
cigar. The Nova Police comes in, hydrohomegal handcuffs corners the
mob. Disaster averted.
A picture seeks an infiltrator. A clock finds the time. Sparks fly
through the city. On TV sets of amber blue, agents watch mob
activities.
Peanuts and pennies run the gamut. It loots the chocolate store and
leaves butter in its place.
Sticks and stones blow up buildings and take schoolgirls hostage.
Looters raid a public library, and schools go up.
Presidents conceals bad behavior, classifies everything. War goes
badly, put on a kind face.
Nothing is wrong, everything is fine.
The planet gets hot, the nova commence.

The stuff adolescence fantasies
are made of.

Paul got up.
He wandered downstairs, and got online. He surfaced the Internet for
awhile, going to mainstream and underground sites. He finally got
bored and went back upstairs.
Entering the bedroom, he was startled by a smell of cherry blossoms
that had not been there before. He frowned and turned on the lights.
Lying on the bed, seemingly asleep, was a pretty Asian girl. Her form
was softened by an oversized coyote fur coat. It covered her from neck
to ankle, leaving only her booted feet visible.
He swallowed, took a step forward.
Her eyes snapped open. She sat up. Her coat fell gracefully around her
form. The voluminous collar was nearly hidden under her jet-black hair
that was streaked with color. She smiled shyly at him.
"Hello, Mr. Wright," She said. Her voice was deeper then her
appearance would suggest. It was not unpleasant, though.
"Hello," He said, smiling. She returned his smile, and swung her long
legs off the bed, and stood up. He was disappointed to notice she was
wearing blue jeans under the coat.
"And what," He asked, "Can I do for you?"
She reached into her coat, fished around for a moment, then pulled out
a folded piece of paper, or rather several papers, folded and stapled
into a semblance of a book. She opened it and pointed.
"I wanted to ask you," She said, looking at him over her furry
shoulder, "About this series of panels."
And he realized that she was holding a copy of one of his small press
comics. He stroked her coat contently.

Paul got up. He couldn't sleep any more, and his head was throbbing
less violently then before. He went downstairs, saw a light in the
living room.
Ms. Laurie was sprawled in a chair, her head lolling to the side. Her
blonde hair was half-obscuring her face. He sighed, headed for the
kitchen. She opened her eyes as he passed.
"What's the time?" She asked huskily.
"Twenty to five," He answered, "I'll make some coffee."
"After last night," She smiled, "You need it."
He growled, continued into the kitchen. When he had started the coffee
maker, he heard her laughter, which aggravated him. Luckily, he was
too tired to tell her off.
As it boiled, he returned and he eyed Ms. Laurie warily. She smiled in
a way that seemed benevolent. And they sat like that for several
minutes until the coffee maker chimed.
He went and pored two cups. He handed one to Ms. Laurie, which she
sipped demurely. He took a sip and grimaced.
"Hot enough for you?" She said with a smirk. He scowled again.
"Are you here," He asked grumpily, "To revel in my misfortune?"
"No, actually," She said, with a warmer smile, "I'm not."
"That's a first."
"A first of a first."
"First of seconds."
"Seconds and thirds."
He leaned back, closed his eyes, and rubbed his face. He heard her
say, "Any changes?"
He shook his head. He heard her sigh, and sip her coffee.
"You'd better finish your coffee before it gets cold," She said. He
nodded, and took the cup.
"If your not carefully," She commented, "You could run yourself into
the ground."
He grunted, said "And I'll sprout like a seed, taller then before."
She scowled, put her cup down.
"I'm serious, Mr. Wright," She said.
She shook her head, sending golden hair flying.
"This is another part of your personality I despise," She muttered.
"If I have so many faults, why are you here?" He asked.
"Call it a vested interest."
"Under a suit of personal gain."
She shook her head again, sipped her coffee. Her eyes blazed at him
over the rim of the cup. He ignored her, and continued to sip his
rapidly cooling coffee.
"No need," She commented, "To be insulting, Mr. Wright."

He visited his cousin's tomb.
It was ice-cold inside, colder then the outside air. He rubbed his
hands together, trying to force some warmth onto them. Paul sighed,
walked along dust covered floors, through cobweb doors. Little light
fell on his form and the air was stifling. He leaned against a wall,
attempting to regain strength.
To tired, he thought.
Far to tired.
He pushed himself away from the wall, strode back into the dank
darkness of the crypt. The smell of decay was uniform. The distant
sounds of dripping water were ever present. He ignored it all,
concentrating on the path through the darkness. It was slow going, but
he persevered.
Am I working too hard, he asked himself. Sure, he was more tired then
usual and more moody. But, is it really from his job?
He sighed, as no answer came to him. He continued on into the inky
darkness.

He at last arrived at the center of the tomb.
His cousin lay on a circular stone slab. Her pale visage gleamed in
the darkness. Her long dark hair blended subtly with the gloom. Only
her lips, red and full, gave any indication that life had any hold at
all on her. He shivered as he looked at her. She was dressed in the
stereotypical long white gown that he'd buried her in. No activity
could be detected. No breathing, no heat, no heart activity. By all
appearances, she was dead.
Paul approached her, touched her cheek, and stroked it. His hand
glowed briefly. Her lips parted, a sharp inhale. Slowly, her breathing
increased. She stirred. She opened her eyes, looked at him. She
smiled.
"Iris," He said gently.
She smiled again, looking soft and sweet, then frowned.
"I thought," She said slowly, "That I was." she exhaled, "Dead."
"Technically, you are," He said, smiling, "But I'm working on it."
"Oh," She said, her eyes flickering.
"Save your strength. Next time, I'll have an answer."
"You don't look well..." She said, her eyes flickering weakly, "You
need.. a.. rest..." And she fell silent again. He bent down, buried
his face on her, and cried.

You can dissent and still be a patriot.
-Oliver Stone

If they (The Democrats) had had their way,
We would have lost World War II.
-Rush Limbaugh

"It's a bitch, the road these days."
Calvin Smith was fighting to keep the old Studebaker on the roads.

stirred from her doze. She shifted, let her fur coat fall around her
as it would. Calvin Smith was speaking.
"The conservatives," He continued, "Can't aim straight to save
themselves. Not that the progressives are any better. But the
conservatives have built themselves up as great defenders of the
republic. Of course, it's all bullshit. The only enemy that they're
really fighting is themselves."
Chi Fang propped her heavy fur-clad sleeve up on the window.
"As if all that's not obvious," She growled. Smith rolled on
regardless.
"They can't believe that a person could dare criticize their country.
Their country, their flag. If they do, they can't be real citizens.
Only people who think like them are real citizens. Everyone else are
poser. A very simple philosophy. Backed up by horrible weapons."
She grunted, continued to stare out the window. The coat was heavy
around her, yet her breath steamed. She huddled in the fur coat as if
it was armor.
Calvin cleared his throat.
She attempted to stir, but failed.
"The real problem behind all this, the religious element, who try to
hide their intolerance behind numbers, trying to appear as if they
outnumber those they despise. They refuse to accept that they are the
minority. Their enemies, or, if you like, everyone else, are the
actual majority. Their numbers aren't impressive, but their volume
is."
Chi Fang turned and looked at him sourly.
"Aren't you," She said, "In a good mood today."
He laughed without humor.
"Can you blame me?" He asked.

"Still won't listen to reason, eh?" Robert McCarthy asked, filling Ms.
Laurie's glass. She shook her head. He sighed, poured himself a large
shot of vodka. They could almost be twins.
"He's a damned fool," she spit.
Robert smiled, drained his glass. Outsides, vast airships and
zeppelins passed overhead. Distant sounds of thunders echoed through.
Ms. Laurie sipped her glass, glaring at Robert.
"He always was like this," He said, lightly.
"What can we do against that kind of arrogance?"
He shrugged, said "Not much. Some people don't want to listen to
anyone else."
"Typical," She said, draining her glass in one gulp. Robert looked
surprised. She smiled.
"There is much you don't know about me," She said.
Robert grinned, as they turned to greet the new arrivals.
Calvin Smith and Chi Fang stood in the hallway. Ms. Laurie and Robert
McCarthy thought privately that she was overdressed, in a heavy fur
coat that reached to her knees. It was too heavy for the weather.
Calvin's dark complexion was even more prominent in the low lighting.
Robert approached them, shook hands with Calvin, then he ushered them
into the room. At the table, he poured them each a glass of vodka,
apologizing for the cheapness of it.
"It's actually," He said, "A cheap American knock-off. The only
version available these days. The border closings have been hell all
over. The US industries just weren't prepared. So, more demand, less
supplies, and higher prices, and cheap knock-offs."
"They wanted all-American products, and they got them," Calvin said,
grinning. Chi Fang stirred again in her fur coat.
She said, "Be careful what you wished for."
"Exactly, Mrs. Fang," Robert said with a grin. Ms. Laurie said
nothing. She drank her drink slowly. The Barf group sat around the
table in silence. Then, Calvin leaned forward, and lit a cigarette.
He said "So, what news?"
Robert shook his head. Ms. Laurie scowled. Calvin leaned back.
"Nothing good, eh?" He said.
"Nope," Robert said, leaned back, "He's still as short-sighted as
ever. Never one to seek help."
"Same old story, eh?"
Robert nodded.
Chi Fang stirred again, said, "He never learns, does he?" A slender
hand appeared from a long furry sleeve, reached for a glass. Her head
appeared, and gulped down the drink. She then slumped back,
disappeared back into the furs.
Ms. Laurie scowled, said "He's too damned hard-headed."
The others nodded. Silence reigned among them again. Smith cleared his
throat again, said "So, what can we do?"
Still more silence. The feeble light hid the scenery. The walls of the
house seemed muddy. Ms. Laurie sighed.
"We need," She said, "To get him to just relax."
The others nodded. Robert smiled sadly.
"You can't force" He commented, "Someone to rest."
Ms. Laurie scowled, looked away. The lights made her appear soft and
delicate. A dangerous false vision.

house. They ignored it.
The various factions had started fighting again.

At a cafe in Five Points, as the crisp air turned chill, Paul sat at
an out door restaurant. His coffee sat besides him, too hot to drink.
The place was sparsely populated these days. Little visited. He ogled
the few girls who still frequented the area. Power was on infrequently
as well. The pavement was in need of repair. Papers blew about. On a
wall someone had scrawled "Five Poiraq" on a nearby building. That
made him smile, as he sipped his rapidly cooling coffee. He watched a
cute blonde in a leopard coat dash across the road and into a
bookshop.
He sipped his coffee unhurriedly.
She soon appeared again, attempting to exit the store, but was pulled
back inside by several strong arms. The door slammed, and through the
window, he watched as she was dragged behind a bookcase by several
shadows.
A bear sat down next to him.
He glanced over, recognized Chi Fang, sitting and sipping some hot
cocoa. She, too, was watching the blonde girl's ordeal.
"Shame, really," She said.
"Hmm?"
"Shame. Such a cute girl. Oh, well. When the 'servatives retreated to
their bunkers and picked a fight with the progs, they left the door
open. They relinquished the moral upper hand to settle old scores. In
the absence of authority, anarchy reigns. The ultimate moral failure,
some would say."
Paul, busy admiring her coyote fur coat, didn't answer. She looked at
him, then touched his hand. The brush of the coat excited him.
"Your still," He finally said, "Showing off your political studies?"
"You never were interested in politics. A particular over sight of
yours," She commented.
He shrugged, then said "Never had much use for the short-sighted
beggars."
"They're in charge. It's rather useful to know who's got power and
what they're doing with that power."
"They screw up no matter whose in. Neither side has a great record in
that regard."
She smiled, then turned up her furry collar so that it framed her
face. She settled down into the coat, so that she almost vanished.
That made him even more excited. She smiled again, took a cigarette
out of her purse, and offered him one. He accepted it.
"So," She began, "How are you feeling?"
He scowled and said "I wish everyone would stop bothering me about
that. It's not like it's your business or anything anyway."
She surprised him by responding to this tired with a sweet smile.
She said, "In a way, it is our business, Paul."
He scowled, and said "I hope your not gonna get goody-goody on me,
Mrs. Fang."
She only smiled again. He went on with his rant.
"I mean... everyone's getting on my case lately. Even Iris gave me
hell for it. What is..."
Chi Fang cocked an eyebrow and said "Even Iris, who is dead.."
"Temporarily," He corrected.
"...Temporarily dead noticed your state. Doesn't that tell you
something?"
He sat back and stared straight ahead.
"Well?" She demanded. He didn't answer. He was lost in his own
thoughts. She saw something flash across his face. She smiled, rubbed
her furry sleeve appreciably.

Come sleep on the beach
Deep within my reach
-The Who

The beach was nearly deserted.
Heavy Grey clouds filled the sky. The beach currently was at low tide,
revealing a large section of heavy, waterlogged clay. Behind this was
a series of white sandy dunes. They were choked at times with green
grass, weeds, and flowers several concealed woods. Wooden planks led
back towards the religious hotel. The fresh air blew Paul's hair back.
He smiled. It was astoundingly peaceful here. Well worth the three-
hour drive it took just to get here.
He followed a cadaverous woman with long dark hair and a healthy,
overly stoat man down the beach towards the hotel. He stopped long
enough to watch Dolphins appeared and disappear.
He was glad he's allowed Chi Fang to persuade him to accompany her to
this resort. Despite its slightly creepy aspects, like hanging moss on
twisted trees, he was at peace and was reflecting on things.
He hoped it lasted when he returned.

"Well, how do you like it?" Chi Fang asked as she unzipped her fur
coat and set it aside.
"You were right," He confessed. "It is peaceful and relaxing."
The room they shared was small but pleasant. The odor from the sea was
vaguely there. The tiny radio on the bedstead had been tuned to a
Charleston classic rock station, just so Paul would have some anchor
to reality. A sink occupied the corner of the room. A desk with a lamp
was next to that. A mirror stood above the dresser. Paul had tossed
his stuff on the bed closet to the rear and the windows.
Chi Fang dropped her blouse on the one near the door. Paul unbuttoned
his shirt, and lay it besides him.

The night was cool and dark.
The only light was from the glowing fire that stood in the middle of
the circle. Paul watched it. Brookes Pruit held a long stick with a
marshmallow stuck on it directly into the flames. It caught on fire
nearly instantaneously.
"Now this," he said, giggling madly, "Is how to roast a marshmallow."
Yolanda Beasly sat to the side, strumming her guitar. Her few efforts
to incite a singalong had failed. Brooks grabbed another log and
chucked it into the pile.
"Not so many, Brookes" Said Calvin Smith, sitting on a log and holding
a powerful flashlight. He winced as sparks flew in his direction. The
smoke was stifling. To Paul's right, Chi Fang giggled.
"Is he always like this?" She asked him.
"Pretty much, yeah," He answered. Ms. Laurie, sitting across from
them, glared. Chi Fang winked at her, and she scowled. Brookes took
the opportunity to toss a big log into the pyre, scattering sparks
everywhere.
"Knock it off, Brooks," Calvin said. Brooks laughed, and reached for
another one.
Yolanda sighed, and said, "Don't, Brooks."
"I'm just trying to help," He said, sitting on a log and pouting.
Ms. Laurie commented "Any more of your help, and we'll be roasted
alive."
Yolanda smiled, strumming her guitar absently.

Paul walked the grounds absently. The trees were overhanging with
Spanish moss, making them look kind of creepy. But it was all relaxing
as well. A contradiction that caused a smirk to appear on his face. He
loved contradictions.

The boat cut through the sickly-Grey water like a knife.
Paul leaned against the rail, watching it. The cool breeze played
havoc with his features. Two or three dolphins surfaced and then slid
back into the water.
"Those dolphins," Calvin chuckled from the controls of the boat, "Are
intelligent enough to recognize friends from foe."
Chi Fang, sitting next to Paul, chuckled.
"At least they can," She murmured. Ms Laurie, next to her, scowled.
She hated the ocean. Even if this was simply a river. And Smith's
sudden burst of speed didn't help. The group went further out and more
dolphins surfaced. He stopped the boat and the group leaned over the
rail to take pictures. McCarthy and Bruce at the dolphins, discussing
various points of interest. Ms. Laurie reached up and accepted a hand
from Bruce, and stood up. A rare smile graced her face.
The boat moved on.
More and more dolphins appeared. The barf group took pictures until
their film ran out.

The boat continued on. The banks of the river seemed to vanish in the
distance. Fog remained with them, patchy and luminance.
They passed a beach on their left. It was full of mating dolphins.
Smith commented, "This is an unusual occurrence. It's actually late in
the season for this to happen. A very rare event."
Further downstream, a small island full of trees appeared. It
contained a rather large eagles' nest that spanned several trees and
weighed 150 pounds. It sat about 30 feet of the ground. Brooks took
dozens of photos.
More trawling, then they turned back.
Brookes wanted to get a picture of himself at the controls. Every one
sighed, as he put his hands on them, sat in the pilot's seat, and
grinned inanely. Smith snapped several pictures.
The boat slowly trailed back, as dolphins followed and disappeared.
The banks of the river slowly slipped back into view. The fog and mist
had begun to dissipate. The sky shined again. The boat cut through the
water, towards the dock.
Paul smiled.
He had enjoyed it after all.

"So," Chi Fang asked, "Did you enjoy it?"
They were lying together in bed. She stroked his bare chest.
"Yeah," He said, sighing contently.
"And the vacation?"
"That too."
She rose elegantly off the bed went to get a shower. Outside,
somewhere near Harbison, a gun boomed. They both ignored it. It had
the qualities of an old friend.
Paul flipped on the music channels. On most where shows that had
absolutely nothing to do with music. He thought back to the old days,
when a music channel would actually play some music. Now, they were
like any other channel. Full to the brim with uninteresting fare and
bland programming. He left it on an '80's music channel, and went to
make a sandwich. Several songs he remembered, and some he didn't,
played in the background.
She soon appeared, still damp, and wrapped in a silver fox fur coat.
She knew not to stay too long. She sat at the table and pulled several
newspapers out. Paul passed a sandwich to her. She laughed as she
accepted it. They were alike in many ways.
Zeppelins and dirigibles dotted the skyline. The distant sounds of
thunder reached them.
Irmo was in flames.

Paul drove his Phantom over the Lake Murray damn and into News
Friarsgate. From the distance, he could see smoke curl up into the
bright orange sky.
Twice, roadblocks stopped him, but he finally got through by bribing a
few of the underpaid and overworked soldiers. Now, he cruised the
streets, avoiding the several heavy vehicles.
He turned up Wychwood road and drove the length, until he came to the
corner.
The old house was gone.
Nothing stood in the lot. The ground was black with ash. He walked up
into the lot. His eyes were wet with nostalgia. He then spun around
and marched back to his car. As he started the engine, he glimpsed an
armored vehicle. He gunned the engine and roared down the road.
Shells exploded around him.

On the radio, the president was condemning certain traitor's elements
in our cities. He advocated burning them out, which the armed forces
took literally.
The car swung out, as the flames of the burning city overtaxed the
interior air system. Paul gunned the motor and leapt out down the
street. He barely missed an Army transport.
They shouted, but he went long, as a few gunshots hit the ground
behind him. But that was all. They didn't even bother to chase him.
They had no real authority to do police work, and without that, they
were ineffective. They were underpaid, overworked, without authority,
and low on moral, they wouldn't last long.
He chuckled.
Traitorous elements. Code words for anyone that disagrees with this
administration. They were so transparent and insulting. But he
expected nothing else from them. They were arrogant and incompetent.
They wouldn't last much longer.
Smear and destroy. That was the easy part.
Reconciliation was the difficult part. How to bring back together
those that had been at each other's throats for so long?
He saw no easy answer.

Paul picked up the bass guitar and played a few runs on it, then
adjusted the volume. Brooks grinned and stepped up to the microphone.
"Glad your feeling better, Paul," He said.
The guitar player strummed the strings, then adjusted the pitch. He
nodded to the drummer, who raised his sticks high in the air, and
brought them down with a solid boom.
Paul rode the wave of the music as it rolled over him. Through the sea
of rhythm, he heard Brookes singing. The lights swung their beams over
the stage, and they continued into the bridge of the song.
Paul Wright smiled.
He felt better then he had recently.
He hoped it lasted.

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