The End . . .

Don’t talk to me. I’m not listening to your hand-wringing babbling. You waste your breath on inconsequentials. I know it’s fear. I know you want to live, and die, at the same time. But I’m the one who is keeping us alive. I have to think, reconnoiter, listen, understand. I have to read the earth, feel the wind, interpret the sky. So I can’t listen to you. I’m sorry. Your terror is scratching away at my resolve, so shhhh. Be still. Because I want to live. I want to find a way through, under, over this devastation we find ourselves in. You have to be strong. I don’t want to do this alone. We need to search for others. There must be others. There must be. If all that’s left is you and me, well, I can’t believe that. So, please stop talking. They might hear us. They might come for us. Shhhh. Time to move on. Quietly. One step at a time. One hopeful step at a time.

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