Life after social media and the meandering thought stream of deep consciousness

The Dreamers

Things go on like they always do. Be awake and live and let the dreamers sleep. Shades of grey shift through the world of the living, but when you cease to live, everything is black and white.

Almost the whole world had become despondent husks after unknowingly ingesting some sort of toxin. For reasons unknown to those affected, energy levels and virility would rise. Spirits and hopes were returning to those who had lost their way at some point. To feel better than they ever have in their life, and be thrilled to just exist, it seemed like a wave of peace was washing over the world. But slowly things started to change. It’s hard to track an origin or patient zero, as the toxin simply went unnoticed for years.  No one can seem to remember exactly when a general consensus was reached that something was terribly wrong, and was only going to get worse, but it seems all have their own story of how it began for them. Watching the elderly regain their youth, only to have their entire life stripped from them. Active and intrigued children, with a world ahead of them, just losing interest in everything and simply laying motionless all day. Parents no longer caring about their children, neglecting to feed them (and eventually themselves). I think the early days were the hardest for most people. We had all grown up around this idea that when the apocalypse finally came, it would be some great wave of destruction followed by years of silence and loneliness. For us, it was a slow killer, creeping up on us. So blinded were we by the overwhelming sense of positive change in the world, that we just never saw it coming. And that’s how it went; passing through the population like some unseen pickpocket swimming amongst us in a crowd.

They were all very much alive, in the clinical sense of the word, but they were more skin and bone than they were human. Lifeless, soulless chunks of meat that simply could not survive without the help of others…and we helped, we all did. Groups were formed to routinely sweep through buildings to ensure there were not any newly affected. Massive care clinics were set up to look after the affected. Most had a hard time finding something to call them. They weren’t sick, per Se. The most common problems among them were afflictions like bed sores, which could appear anywhere, depending on where they were and what they were doing when they stopped. They didn’t seem to have any choice in the matter and they seemed to only be getting worse and worse the longer time went on. We all talked about them as if they were in a coma, or in some deep sleep that they might wake up from one day. I suppose it was only a matter of time before we started to affectionately refer to them as Dreamers, much in the same way one refers to a family member dying of cancer as being sick; those with cancer are not sick, they’re dying, but it’s always harder to talk about loved ones in the sense that they will one day be dead. And so the Dreamers dreamed.


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