From Michael MacRae

The short story only adds to the image. I just want to know more. It seems to be post apocalypse, but it could be something else.

“The days are regimented here and though you should expect him to leave me in the tundra if I were to fall behind, you could say I am well fed and energized, so do not worry. All that he provides in the way of foodstuffs is deer meat. I’ve relied on my rations of tin vegetables and and have taken up the hobby of fishing to satisfy a varied diet.
We hunt most hours of the day, he kills the animals leaving me to fix them to sleds and drag the carcasses, sometimes miles at a time back to the cave where he does not permit me to enter. I’ve been used as little more than a pack mule in these trips but from what I understand he brings me along to observe. It is difficult discerning him as he does not speak, or chooses not to, and he refrains from physical conversation beyond simple gestures when it pleases him. He engages in other activities on a mysterious schedule and he seems to make good use of any time I am away or the rare chance I may be caught sleeping. I’ve stepped outside for only minutes and returned to find a fully skinned and gutted carcass splayed upon the table with its spine removed and ground into sludge. He was sitting in his chair.
He acts like a shadow, constantly moving about the walls rather than cross the floor. If I don’t watch him closely it is easy to lose track of him, even in this confined cabin space. During the nights (if one can call them as such, they are little more than dim evenings here) he sits across from the bed, facing the snuffed out fireplace, barely visible in his dark and oiled wraps. Comfortable sleep has become a luxury, on more than one occasion I have awoke to find he had rotated to face me, his gaunt statuesque form with long fingers clutching the ends of the arm rests. I suppose it goes without saying that he does not make for good company.
I have yet to fully understand what we are doing here, I do hope it is revealed soon. As things are though, I may be here for some time.
– M”

afternoon_rituals_by_themichaelmacrae-d9koj5bSource: He Does Not Sleep by TheMichaelMacRae on DeviantArt

Survivors

I’m watching Survivors again. Based on a book by Terry Nation (which I can’t find at Chapters). The author is deceased, awhile ago. Was sad to read that. He is also known for creating the Daleks in Doctor Who.

From Wikipedia: Survivors is a British television series devised by Terry Nation and produced by Terence Dudley at the BBC from 1975 to 1977. It concerns the plight of a group of people who have survived an accidentally released plague that kills nearly the entire population of the planet. The programme is usually described as falling into the science fiction genre, and fits into the sub-genre of apocalyptic fiction. It was remade in 2008.

Apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction, from Wikipedia. I still think of it as armageddon, but that’s from playing Carmageddon until it merged with my brain cells.

Apocalyptic fiction is a sub-genre of science fiction that is concerned with the end of civilization either through nuclear war, plague, or some other general disaster. Post-apocalyptic fiction is set in a world or civilization after such a disaster. The time frame may be immediately after the catastrophe, focusing on the travails or psychology of survivors, or considerably later, often including the theme that the existence of pre-catastrophe civilization has been forgotten (or mythologized). Post-apocalyptic stories often take place in an agrarian, non-technological future world, or a world where only scattered elements of technology remain. There is a considerable degree of blurring between this form of science fiction and that which deals with false utopias or dystopic societies.
The genres gained in popularity after World War II, when the possibility of global annihilation by nuclear weapons entered the public consciousness. However, recognizable apocalyptic novels existed at least since the first quarter of the 19th century, when Mary Shelley’s The Last Man was published. Additionally, the subgenres draw on a body of apocalyptic literature, tropes, and interpretations that are millennia old.

The Un-Possible Terminator

I’m watching The Terminator, Sarah Connor Chronicles. One thing that keeps occuring to me is that the whole thing is silly. If they can keep going back and forth in time there is no end to it. Even if Sarah and crew succeed in stopping the machines from taking over one moment in time the machines just transport back to another point in time and change history again. It is the never ending story. Kind of crazy. Makes the story pretty off base. I always think science fiction stories should have a backing on facts and things that work/ are possible.

Why Are We Still Here?

Those people usually have several planets to pick from. Why do they feel they have to come back to Earth.

Why are we here? If the planet could dump us off I’m sure it would. I’ve read about how we got here, the whole evolution thing. It may be that you don’t agree with that theory but for me it just makes a lot more sense than believing we just showed up one day.

I’ve had allergies most of the day. Yes, I’m allergic to the planet. I think we really are having some weird love hate relationship. It wants to get rid of me and I don’t want to go. To be honest, I like it here. But realistically I just don’t have another option. There are only so many planets to choose from.

I like watching science fiction. Those people usually have several planets to pick from. Why do they feel they have to come back to Earth. Don’t they know the planet doesn’t really want us? I think we are like the guests who stay too long after the party. The planet is a gracious host and only gives us a few kind hints. But, really, haven’t we mucked things up enough. Sure we have offered to load the dishwasher now but the whole house needs a huge makeover. The dishwasher is just too little too late.