Dosquatch I stood before the carnage. Three hundred? Four hundred? Maybe as many as a thousand bodies lay scattered upon the earth, each given up their last full measure.

Did I feel guilty? Even the slightest pang of remorse for what I'd done?

Well, sure. Taking life isn't something I do casually, but it was the only way to end the siege. Waves upon waves had been invading, and in spite of all that I did, it seemed nothing would turn them away. It was with a deep regret that I finally had to launch such a totally devestating attack, to lay waste to an entire civilization.

With a tear, I turned and walked back to the sink and returned the ant spray to its spot, hopefully never to be used again.
stork daddy the generation after hiroshima and the cold war, rebellious fashion, rock and roll comraderie, sexual revolution. the constant tradeoff between cloistered and melted. as if there was such a thing as inhuman. centuries of people gave birth to children who ultimately forgot them, though they still bore their mark. each individual life, bearing an umbilical molding from the gestation that sustained them. hiroshima only horrible because politicians succeeded in harnessing pure destructive light rather than truly releasing it. 040615
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