The Drift

by C.J. Tudor

“In extreme situations, feeling like you are doing something makes a difference psychologically, even if it has no effect on the outcome.”

You’re either a good guy or you’re a survivor, someone had once told him. The earth is full of dead good guys.

“Love cannot save people,

science saved the many, not the few.

Necessity might be the mother of invention, but it was also the father of fuck you.

Funny, how many terrible things were done for the “greater good.” Carter sometimes wondered at what point the balance tipped. When did the greater good become the fortunate few—and screw everyone else?

When did we stop being people that others wanted to touch and hug and become these revolting husks? Or was that what we always were? Lumps of meat given life by a flick of the sorcerer’s wand. Perhaps death didn’t take anything away. Perhaps it merely restored us to our natural state.

The biggest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

No one ever thinks they’re the bad guy. We all kid ourselves that we’re the hero of the story. And we’re usually wrong. In movies, the good and the bad are clear cut. Black and white. The light side and the dark side. The freedom fighters and the evil empire. In life, it’s not like that. The lines are blurred. People are not black and white, and we all see situations in different ways. One person’s freedom fighter is another’s terrorist. One’s crazy genius is another’s dangerous psychopath. One person’s leader is another’s oppressor. That’s how society rumbled or crumbled.

An apocalypse doesn’t happen because of evil men, zombies or even a virus. It happens because of ordinary people. Because somewhere along the way we lost society, lost cohesion. We forgot to try to see the other side. Instead, we all bunkered down harder in our trenches, refusing to be moved, lobbing missiles at those who dared to challenge our myopic view. No good guys or bad guys. Just a bunch of scared motherfuckers trying to find their way home.

“aber für mich hörte es sich so an als hättest du ihnen erzählt dass du für die Abteilung arbeitest. Für meinen Vater?”

We don’t realize, any of us, how much our existence depends upon hope and purpose, the promise of a new day. Take that away and we’re just automatons, going through the motions until we wind down and die.

Death was a horror, and everything we did—the ceremonies, eulogies, flowers—were just a way to try to convince ourselves otherwise. There was no such thing as a peaceful death. Those about to die regularly wet or voided themselves. There was fear in those final moments, as breath struggled to come and swallowing failed.

You’re either a good guy or a survivor. And the earth is full of dead good guys.”