The American Apocalypse, Saturday version

 In order to see the doom we are facing during these trying times one must venture out to find it.

So drive I did along roads crowded with those fleeing with their families for anyplace but here. North and south they drove, west and east, seeking borders to cross before those borders are closed.

Because a wall is a blockage from either side.

And there they were, the desperate Americans, crowding shopping centers and grocery stores. Hoarding winter clothes and the last of the summer  gear at half price; loading the last 24-pack of toilet paper, the final six-pack of paper towels into their four-seat SUV with wi-fi and surround sound; hauling out the last of the three-for-one canned soup, the last loaf of whole wheat bread and the final brick of Velveeta because it will be a long winter once the nation collapses.

And there they were lined up for miles to grab the last parking space at the massive farm where they ran from the howling mobs hauling pumpkins and corn stalks, and bags of the last fresh tomatoes of the season because they know that in  a month, after the debacle, they will be scratching at barren fields, pawing at the cold dirt for that last potato and recalling the Irish potato famine or the  last scene before the intermission of “Gone with the Wind,” when Vivien Leigh declares, “I will never be hungry again!”

And the misery of them huddling at the corner taco stand, waiting in line for an hour, wondering all the while why there are not more, why every corner is not so adorned with the promised taco stands while the population goes hungry texting their anger across the internet with scowling selfies.

And everywhere they crowded the groomed fields to watch their children play sports knowing the games are just practice for military exercises; knowing that only becoming Jennifer Lawrence armed with a bow will provide the measure of safety their off spring will need to survive the collapse.

And oh, the garage sales. The horror. Frightened countrymen selling their possessions for mere pennies, converting their goods to cash because only cash will have meaning after the fall.

So we prepare for the American Apocalypse.  

And then we remember that it’s a Saturday, and that’s what we do in the old US of A on a Saturday in the richest, safest country in the world.

We worry whether that bran muffin is gluten free.

 

 

About michaelstephendaigle

I have been writing most of my life. I have written at least three complete novels, have three others started and on my website michaelstephendaigle.com is the draft chapter of the latest effort,"The Swamps of Jersey."
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