ziller’s first night at the RfM compound was kind of like summer camp in the boy scouts ~


or maybe it was a bit more like high school days when friends would head down to galveston island and camp on the beach ~


all the ex-mos were just hanging out ~


some exmo had a guitar ~


there was barbeque and a camp fire ~


the night air was carrying a nice sea breeze ~


and the star-lit sky looked like someone had spilled salt across a black silk table cloth ~


all the exmos were sitting around and talking ~


enjoying a drink or a smoke and the companionship ~


all the exmos seemed to know each other ~


all the exmos seemed to know what to do ~


ziller wandered around the compound self-consciously exchanging smiles and nods an trying to see where to fit in ~


ziller entertained the idea of just slipping off to a bunker to sleep sure that nobody would notice ~


off in the distance ziller saw summer lightning reflecting off the low-lying clouds followed by a sound of thunder ~


some exmo yelled ~


“incoming!” ~


and all the exmos started moving real fast ~


earlier that day there had been a brief orientation ~


part of that orientation included some simple information like where the latrine and bunkers were ~


ziller managed to find a bunker and climb down in there with all the other exmos ~


the bunker was dark and quiet ~


the dusty air was sweet with sweat ~


the sound of ziller’s heart drumming in his ear holes gave way to the sound of the breathing of the exmos around about ~


then the explosions interrupted the quiet ~


the explosions were not too close ~


but close enough ~


grains of sand sifted through the ceiling onto the heads of the sheltering apostates and all was quiet again ~


there in the quiet some exmo asked ~



“where is that new guy ziller?” ~


“here” ~


that was that ~


there was not anything more to it ~


the quiet flooded back in as the exmos awaited more explosions ~


ziller will never forget that little exchange there in the dark ~


here is this apostate named ziller that nobody knew anything about ~


no exmo owed ziller anything ~


it wasn’t any exmo’s job to look after ziller ~


it is hard to put the right word to it ~


caring is too big a word ~


compassionate isn’t the right word either ~


maybe it is just that there in the dark ~


there in the silence ~


there in the loneliness ~


some exmo even bothered to ask ~




¸¸><((((º> ¸.•´¯`•.¸¸><((((º>¸.•´¯`•.¸¸><((((º>¸.•´¯`•.¸¸

Most people aren't themselves these days
They aren't anybody else either *strange*r

Most people can't start a fire, a conversation, or even thinking. It's tough to just get a "Hi"-

Hey ziller, guess what, that was me!

I've got your back. Welcome, back.

FIRE Out Of The Hole!

I believe there's an assumption held by many here, that if you're posting, or you've ever posted, you must be in good shape, mentally and spiritually.  ("morally" was removed from this subordinate clause some years ago, for good cause.)

Obviously, I'm proof that such is not the case, and eventually, some agency is going to push through a court-ordered psych exam and then I'll only be posting here on alternate Thursdays, with a counselor looking over my shoulder . . .

I find it hard to maintain antisocial distancing in a bunker.