To Serve Man a dish best served cold.
Once our defenses fell, the tables turned quickly and decisively.
“…No one knows where they got the guns, or how they learned to use them. Some guy I knew once figured that a few hunters probably went missing here and there, maybe they just got robbed, and not enough people put the pieces together until it all went down…”
“They came when we were at our weakest- millions of people in a groggy food-induced state, lulled into a false sense of security in front of our televisions with children scampering about underfoot.”
“…they knew where to strike us where our defenses might have been strongest, on a holiday- that is if they were able to coordinate a counterattack, but they struck hard and fast…”
“All I can remember is the sound they made right before it happened… I’m not afraid I’m not ashamed to admit that still have nightmares about that, so long after the fact. If you’d seen the things that I saw when it all went down, you would too- if you were lucky enough to get out in the first place…”
Picking our bones.
“…funny thing is, I hear tell that our government used to do good by some of theirs back in the old days, and that they were even making it out in the forest or something, because of what those eggheads over in the Capital were doing. …
Figures that they would turn on us like that. You’ve seen what they do to us out here, I don’t have to tell you. They’ve got no kind of sense of honor or nothing, I tell you.”
“…All I know is that they’re really good shots. You know what they sound like, right? Good.
If you ever even think you hear one of them, you get down, and stay quiet. That guy with the theory didn’t; that’s why I don’t know him anymore. That’s the only thing we’ve got on them, they always make noise when they get excited.”
“I tell you, the dead are lucky. They don’t have to put up with that gobble gobble gobble at all hours of the day, all hours of the night, it’s like it’s all around you. Gets to the point where I don’t know what to tell the kids, never-mind myself when you’re at your wits end.
Armed to the teeth- if they had them, that is. But they still have plenty of ammo.
Then next thing you know you’ve got half a pound of buckshot flying through the air at you. They make a bunch of noise, scare you real bad to flush you out, then take out the stragglers…”
“I always used to hate the holidays. Now I guess they hate me back..”
-Excerpts from interviews with refugees of Black Thursday.
