Member-only story
All Your Heroes Are Dead
Post-apocalyptic Fiction
If you find this paper, then you should know I’m dead.
Maybe it was the last pandemic that did me in. Maybe it was the alien infestation. Maybe it was the rampant unrest when the governments began to fall.
I thought I had all the answers back when the tremors began. I was a man of logic and sense, and I watched the news with a sense of obliviousness. That can’t happen. There are people out there who won’t let this happen. I may not have any power, but someone will act. Good people will act.
For any future generations that survive to read this, never let this mantra rule the day. It leads to inaction which is the fatal flaw of every well-meaning person who flirts with the idea of going against the grain. Collective inaction is what destroys civilizations. I know this because I watched my neighbors, one by one, stop watching the news each night. They turned to the rumor mill, word of mouth, and conspiracy theories. They thought the Machine was trying to control their lives, and they would have none of that.
Maybe we needed to be controlled.
Maybe we would have survived if someone had taken control of the ship we were driving into the sinkhole in the middle of the ocean.
