MUSH

                A man drug a bed and other assorted furniture across the rubble strewn street to the main floor of the library you are picturing in your mind currently. He smiled and admired the architecture, this could have turned out far worse.

                Sitting on a windowsill high above the sidewalk below, the man wonders if perhaps the MUSH virus is no longer a problem. The man walks far enough and comes to where it stops. Buildings, cars, billboards, are all partially melted creating a demarcation point between the world and the MUSH. Sure the MUSH creeps and consumes but there must be an end, right?

                It has been a year since he saw the last ship and he has still seen no sign of another living soul.

                Civilization fell within two weeks of their arrival. There are places here or there that for some reason were not affected, tiny pockets of uninfected flesh in a sea of leprosy.

                The man found this library a month ago. It is surrounded by ranch homes and the occasional remnants of small business. It has been years since the man has felt the warmth of another, but there is always lots of canned food in these ranch homes, 2 bedroom, 2 baths, Twinkies last forever, right? The blue ships took all of the people. They looked like great boomerangs, angular and encased in blue glowing fields shaped like the Earth’s magnetosphere. The boomerang ships dispersed the tube ships everywhere like battleship sized aerosol cans, and all they did was spray this grey mist. Where they sprayed everything turned to MUSH. Anything that touched the MUSH turned to MUSH, eventually. Nothing we did mattered. The war machine of man fell upon the invaders and they were indifferent. They just kept spraying.

                MUSH, the ultimate weapon, was designed by its creator to do one thing, turn all organic compounds into grey mush with the consistency of oatmeal. Any and every living thing melted into an organic soup of grey MUSH.

                 The ships started coming again. It has been exactly four years, seven months, two days, and three hours since humanity learned from CNN that there were alien ships in orbit. Nearly five years of perpetual dissolution.  These new ships, smooth silver orbs with a mirror finish, are hundreds of meters in diameter so that when they swoop down from low Earth orbit to suck up the MUSH they eclipse the sun. The silver orbs were gone soon after they have arrived, such was their efficiency.

                They are long gone now. The mush is gone. It’s just the man and cans with mystery contents since the paper labels were long since mushed away. The man sits opening a can in anticipation. Pineapple!!   

Perpetual Dismemberment

Once upon a soft summer night,
My gaze turned towards a stars white light.
As always came a Daemon, blood stained scimitar in hand,
To hack me into little pieces and spread them along the sand.

The Linear Time Perspective

The power of the melancholy over lost youth is mighty. As the days ahead grow fewer than those behind I find the weight of regret tiresome. Fortunately I fear oblivion above all other things. I hope I live long enough to have my brain downloaded into a robot body. I will watch the last star wink out and lament the myriad lost worlds.

Samurai

I know that I
I don't know why
This time I'm gonna die

I tell you I will wait
On the other side
My life has sealed my Fate

On my horse I ride
To my suicide
For the sake of pride

Gone

Gone, gone are the words she said
They are gone she said
Moving on love that way
Move on that way
Would that I know the way
I have lost my way
I take my life today
The end was what she said

Please my prophecy make the blessed pay,
steal them from the gates of dawn and cast their souls away.

It crawled

It crawled through the muck beneath the grey stone bridge, under a grey sky as the last bit of sunlight seeped away, always careful not to let it touch its pale flesh. It's victim was just ahead walking down the cobblestone path that quickly turned to dirt as it left the village. The fat bipedal creature staggered a bit but plodded on oblivious to the death that stalked it. To you he would be a man, something who's passing should be morned. To him"it" was not a man, not a father, not a respected member of society, it was merely food and it would be consumed clothing, bones and all. As the food staggered one final time he, with lightning speed, was swept from the path into the now dark woods. The food let out a scream as sharp thick nails dug into flesh and as quickly as it came the scream was squelched as it bit deeply into the mans throat. The man managed only a gurgled whimper as it drank from the abundant blood welling up from the horrible wound. It consumed the warm liquid until that which pumped it ceased and there was naught left but meat. It opened it's jagged maw and, as if it were some machine from the nether regions of the abyss built for the sole purpose of consuming flesh, consumed the man. It then lapped at the pool of bloody bile until even that was gone.

Hours passed as it crept through the night. Another village lay in the valley below. Small wispy tendrils of smoke stream from the tips of chimneys illuminated by the nearly full moon. On the path just ahead another biped stumbles unavoidably towards doom.