EVERYONE SAW WW3 COMING

By Michael Fillit


People prepared for it,
And soon before it came,
Word of it.

~~~~

Before knowledge that it had begun,
It was known to have finished.
Sitting staring at stillness, again.

Relatively loudly, New York City was driving its civilians bonkers. Reminding the participant of London before its fire, the clarity of insight into each other's lives were not so invited, nor appreciated by each other. Thrust upon each other fortuitously, yet with no more space to smoke, let alone hallways made of walls rather than furniture. Questions were posed, serious questions. Like, where did the Oxygen come from, and where did the mistakes, go..? It all seemed fine.

Sun shone every day we thought of, but who remembers rainy days in terms of production. The Gregorians were a productive and fruitful people. And if it hadn't been for their calendar, it could have been fall and not spring. We knew cows knew, but at the same time didn't know, to lie down before, somehow knowing in advance, the rain comes, to have a dry piece of grass to lie on during the storm, so we looked for signs of climate change. We looked for signs of political change. We looked for signs of economic change. We looked for signs of an end to something we ended long ago.

Now not everyone cared. Not everyone. Probably for the most part, but that's mostly a lie one cannot lie to oneself about, people probably personified their neighbors as passive, if they considered them as much more than a haze. But some really cared and got nothing done, wherefore they used all free time they had and energy and ability to fight! And still nothing changed, and no true proof was attached to prediction. And some people were caught in the middle, knowing that change was at hand, which terrified them as much as served as answer to themselves. They understood the change, and they were doing little, if anything at all.

And so stood the spectrum of persons we called people, the lives of life, before we went ad absurdum. Before war became of peace. And it was ok..

Things went on, as if nothing was happening, as usually as ever. Like thunder after lightning, we still the torturous reverbery because it is comforting in relation.

~~~~

The spire atop of The Freedom Tower was the height of New York City, so if one begins there a tidal flow can fly from that point, way above the blue erection, rushing from nowhere outward and filling empty white space with buildings, trees, streets, and billowing outwardly, as rows of waves of the ocean lap upon Quogue shores. This was the lie. For nowhere like this did anyone visit the city. This place existed only in the participant of New York City, the historians of its geography. The more you see, the more you are able to construct the city in your mind where nowhere else does this exist.

This lie laid so deeply in our psyche. Because, if we were working towards anything, it was this perspective, and if it were not, in the end, then what does that portend? This is repression. Not depression. No this was something your friends don't monitor in you, because they don't monitor it in themselves either. These lies that we will not allow ourselves to begin to confront. The lies that are useful, for other joys but in the end stifle our beautiful endeavour. 'What if I moved like a rook?' Would be the chess player's question. 'What if there was a better move?' A reply.

Joy is that easy to extinguish. The fact that repression of depression can allow it to live and be lived, and that can be enough for a whole lifetime, but that you must repress depression for joy, in this example of how to be joyous, or to win against depression.

Everyone sees pretty much the same thing when this comes up. Being God during genesis can be fun sometimes for some time, when you follow this tidal flow from the spire top, and whether my green is your blue or my square is your circle, we are creative and transfer a lot of personal and unshared emotions to attach like filler in one's mental creation of what New York City only looks like. If you ever get past downtown.

From there, you have a start. To begin, something that does not need to end. Some people start everything backwards. They have everything from the onset, and the ease of their sophistication can wane until they must realize what is necessary. Instead of having only what is necessary, and driving towards more. Like some people are loved so hardly by their mothers before they are aware, that they have an unembraced feeling when she enters the room, a feeling which the world is then compared to.

~~~~

Long before the times this is intended to be of, people had to trust themselves much more, more people had to trust themselves, on more things, more of the time. And more of the time, they found themselves needing to trust themselves in complication, even complications commonly. This remains common, throughout time, we all happen to fall upon knowing, at some time or another. We were not far from cavemen yet.

It was a difference of opinion on this that was the war's Ferdinand caught second hand. The cry that no one was listening, for no one was, and the prayer that we work together, because that's all it was. Lost in translation, is probably the better word for what was happening at the time before the world went truly bonkers. When the tidal flood of technology reaped its wearing on the ground that was stood upon.

You can forget very easily what you lived through, for one reason or another. But some things, stay with you for a while longer and don't go away until they're long ready to go and even after they have left because, well of course, the echoing gossip. And they wreak their wearing on the neuronal channels and resources that we call the living body. This thing we take control of at a proper time to run for a gamut.


CHAPTER 1

A Reddit post read, "Scientists reverse ageing in old mice using brain fluid from younger mice." The italicized words in the first comment read, "Looks over at son, sitting there, with that big ol head full of brain fluid. Hoarding it. That's the family's brain fluid!" If that says much about the state of things around the time of it. Micro-plastics must have infiltrated even the air, if it was in every piece of fish, from any piece of water, even the water of someone with just pet salmon. Micro, plastic, pieces. Oh, this account of this tragedy and the battles that began because of dire straits once again thrust upon us to survive individually, in the current situation, fittingly.

A byproduct of ourselves was what we ourselves excreted, as even hazardous to ourselves, if at least useless to ourselves, casted as a story you are the protagonist in and the propaganda instigates and even provokes. While we were a conflagration of more than just wood or flag, it were a maelstrom of turmoils not just the turmoil that is the esoteric and nearby explosions we also cast with allegory, giving benefit of the doubt to for confirmation bias that it is more than just a big bang.

He had a her, and her name was Vulubesha. She was on the other side of the world from him. They were connected by a group called a third-party of people interested for another interaction with a fourth-party; sustenance the game afoot. She had a neck, a perfectly long neck if one would just look, and a head at the end of it with a face you wouldn't look away from if she wasn't so mean. A model. Everyone was surviving. Some made a good try of it. But, few if any turned around and fixed where they had found wrong and looked to change the world they came from and won't escape by just surviving in it.

She had a way about her, as they say, but she really was successful at it. It was no wonder that the world was so upside down, when it came down to it, she was the only one having fun because she was doing it right. This was self-evident. And it was a product of herself. A product of her world.

He knew this. To him, she was sparkling noontime Spring trees. He thought he could find a way to reach her and become the man she wanted, by which it is meant she was without. "The man of her dreams," could be considerably less than desirable as a means to accomplish one's goals. The goal of partnership.

These realities provoked him to muster the courage. The courage to set out across a barren wasteland, with no directions, and only hope, not even faith.


CHAPTER 2

World War 3 was a common sense kind of thing. But it was not a commonplace thing. If propaganda was the process and mechanisms of controlling what each person saw and thought, then WW3 was a living masterpiece. This mechanism made its way across generations, it transcended the billowing recreations of times unseen that pedestrians could imagine at once and without a doubt it was incomplete. World War 3 hadn't happened yet, so it could had been a good thing, for argument's sake.

Words were prayed to God, prayed to Satan, prayed to themselves, and prayed for others. Not misunderstanding the hollowness of their listener. Between them and God stood the Lord, and between you and me the Lord was the only God some ever knew. The facts of their life gave insight for their knowledge, so the lives they led were being dictated by the facts they were presented. Though they did not think to cherish the fact that faith existed, that the word "God" and its meaning existed. To challenge one thing's presence in your life is one thing, but to challenge its possibility is quite another.

Whether it was man who was Lord, or some other person, didn't matter that much anymore. It was actually more important to think about whether God was coming, in these times of WW3. And some knew this. Some like him. Some like her. Some of them. It would be God who would justly intervene in whatever they were doing. So they went on, waiting, wishing, wondering, if there would ever be change, or just an end. And if that end came, would it be WW3 that brought it to our doorsteps. In any case, everybody saw WW3 coming.


CHAPTER 3

And then it began. He set out to be the man of her dreams, again, not as fortuitously as one would imagine. The distance was not the only factor that restricted him, for fear of the wear it would wreak upon his body. The ideologies restricted him, too. These things challenged his courage remarkably, nevertheless the invigoration that love can agitate within ourselves prompted him to ignore the thoughts behind his eyes and between his ears. He began to look outward. He looked ahead of him, and saw nothing. There were things in his way, but they were not for him. They were only, in his way. His life seemed to lay out before him, and these things were going away, however though he had nothing else to declare his own. Only a dream, of a woman, he would follow.

She showed so much more to him than he thought would be brought to his table. She brought fable and truth, ideas and material things, dancing, and holding hands. She showed him these things from a distance, and through no particular channel. She was unignorable. She would not be quieted, in vision nor voice. This way, she motivated him, stayed with him on the first leg of his journey. Though it is oft more difficult to remember why we do things, when we finally have become the one who has done them. We lose ourselves to the present of union with our goals, achieving a presence of mind that needs no questions, and thus no answers.

He was on his way, to her. She was the only one he loved, one where he would not love another ever. This mattered most, to him. If love was not a journey worth having complete, then it was surely the end of times. In this case, if these two black holes do not meet, the damage would be worse.

He knew he had no idea how to get to her, how it would be fine that she didn't even know of his existence and he was coming to win her heart because of an idea he had in his mind. He knew that it would end in Heaven, for she was his idea of an angel. He didn't care much for who he was now, so it made it easy to leave everything behind. Except his clothes and such.


CHAPTER 4

"She encourages me." He said.

The only thing holding society together was the idea of civilization itself. The idea having been planted into everyone's minds led them through their individual and thus collective life. The idea alone was enough to move the people he called neighbors into their awkward contortions to avoid his contemptuous indignation. Moving in individual ways to speaking individual languages offering individual meanings from one floor to the next, then from step to step, and stride to stride.

People, he had finally accepted, were not like the people he knew when he was a younger person. Not in the phrasing of, he moved out of a bubble into a larger world and could never have been prepared. No this phrasing means to conjecture that people had changed over the time of his life, the people of the world, the royal people. And so he was combated, or rather confronted with the clashing conundrums which undermined his decision to change or stay the same. Whether to do this or that, which the next step, or how to wear his hat. But in the end it was known that he had somewhere to go.

No one greeted him as he left through the hallways of the skyscrapers looming heights. "Courage stay with me," replacing her name again, "especially for these next moments." He had faith now, not just hope or belief, that she could hear him, trust that she was with him, across the distance. "I love you, first and foremost." He says to her. She nods, in a way that is okay for her not to say anything in response.


Chapter 5

If the world had changed that means that he may have needed an update. It might be the only way to continue to be a part of the world where she is. If he did not keep up in the ways of the world, socially, well, honestly, mentally, then he had no chance of being on the same page with her.

People have questioned this from the shores looking out on the Golden Gate Bridge, out to the depths of Europe, and into Asia. "What is relevant?"

How do I reach the world and thus be able to react to it properly? All that is wanted is to be able to interact with the world in a way in which we are able to bring together ourselves and the world we interact with into conformations that we want, that are suitable to us, that are of greatest fit. A form of unanimous agreement, of unanimous harmony.

He so hated how easy it was for him to be the one in the middle. To walk amidst the center of the world, and not be confronted nor combated. The world to him was a way to express himself, and this setting was just a little too tight. But on his feet he was light, and so he was able to do what he wanted as a civil walker. It was, in the end, the best place for him to go. For many reasons, too.

Relevance, with most difficulty combated at the heights of infinity, is really more easily understood to be never capable of being understood, understood already, and otherwise, for short, as always. If the nature of Objectivity is that it is an absolute everything then it would appear that these contradictions have answers, and the answers are so many as the contradictions that some we won't get the answers to the contradictions even though they exist.

The relevance is the real of what happened. Relevance is the factors of the world that come together around you, not what is possible. Possible is like hypothetical, it is open to being logical. Logic being an argumentative stance, or perspective. And so we argue, or have perspective on something, and if the things we accept as the relevant factors are not the appropriate components, then we lose relevance for our arguments and perspectives. We don't share the meanings of our words. We wouldn't share the reality of the moment. We would only see each other in the sunlight.

So he questioned the relevance of his ideas and schemas, and used that doubt to foster the concept that she has not physically said yes yet. It cultivated only to the state of being appreciated, 'He would have to be that man, and he would have to be the man of her dreams.' She would have to say yes.


Chapter 6

He didn't have a place. He had a seat in the subway car amidst the crowd. But he might as well have been lost at sea.

"Oh, Vulubesha, I am so poorly." He said to no one. "My soul is the only thing of purity left of myself. My habits beseech the wrong out of me, and my retrospection is littered with delusions." Lost in his thoughts, he lost sight of his world traveling on along the firm lines of metal. The subway car leaned, but it made no difference to him at this point. The characters that took passage on the train changed, but they were just passengers all the same. He didn't even think about where he was going.

Nevertheless, he charged on to her. He didn't have himself altogether when he was meant to depart the train. Barely, he slipped between the doorway after the conductor rang the bell for Howard Beach. Margins for error were a game his mind played to stay busy. His body was not much more than a game to him, one he had mastered and become bored with.

He was somewhere, some would call psychotic, where he was chasing a dream but the dream was not lucid. The dream had just begun, while the world was being built around him to respond to his moves more than the movements being in harmony with his world. He never felt how lost he was.

"I am so many people, having been so many people, looking back upon so many moments that make up my past. I don't know what to make of it any more than how well I can predict my future. The only difference is I can see my past, oh so clearly with my mind's eye. I've forgotten my dreams, like I have awakened from a long slumber."


CHAPTER 7

He read off another passenger's newspaper, "If peaceful means didn't work then we would employ coercive means, and possibly if coercive means don't work then maybe forceful means to achieve its objective. That is what is profoundly disrupting the status quo and creating tremendous tensions."

If you leave a human alone from birth, it will become feral. This is the natural state of the Human, without socialization. School catches you up on all of humanity's progress so that you can continue where it left off. He had always been way too aware of his transience. He wore it on his face, but should have paid more attention to how it wore on his psyche. It shaped and molded him, as it grew within him. We have to live with where we are coming from. It is our moment to moment inheritance, the promise that the apple will fall.


CHAPTER 8

The spray of the bay, not the ocean that the breakers keep at bay for us. Here at Howard Beach, you were on the bay, not the ocean.

He left the station and by the time he made it across the village of it, finding the shoreline near the horizon, he made it to the bay in time for a rising sun. Looking out over his accomplishment, out into the sea, he let out a properly audible sigh.

I want to know her past, to know what she draws from. I want to know her dreams, so I can look at her future. I want her to tell me, so I can be a part of her present.. "So just go get her." He thought to himself. "Believe that you are good enough or more importantly that you can be." And he decided to go.


CHAPTER 9

His apartment was impressive. He was not an overachiever, in his mind. His apartment reflected him more than it should have. In the background, the TV comforted him most of all with a soothing sense of satisfying remembrance. The third person in the room when he was younger too. When his mother made him happy. Every day.

He took it for granted when he rummaged through his mind, standing still while the floor creaked below his shifting weight, and found what he would need to go on his journey. Then he began to actualize his realizations. He grabbed his computer in order to make his arrangements to go to the locations she frequently posted in, to foster functional distance. If he was not near her, how could she hear him.

With whimsical rhyme and reason, the day became fruitful. He went to bed that night wondering if he had made the right decisions.


CHAPTER 10

They say twilight is a time when it is difficult to see, twilight and dusk. The fuzziness was familiar to him, as it was the permeating ether in his mentality. When he looked inward, it was always twilight, always dusk, always fuzzy. So when he ran from his apartment to his seat on the airplane to go to Russia, the traveling was just a prolonged sunset. It were as though when he blinked, he was only moreso somewhere else.

Much like his idea of how to overcome the language barrier, he was fuzzy on how he would get around town until they met. He barely made it back home each night, what's to say he could make it here? He was barely alive, what if this was the final straw?

The plane's initial ascent always terrified him. Afterwards he slept.


CHAPTER 11

Fine purveyors do not necessarily have an objective perspective to be able to sell something under the disclaimer of being the best. It is moreso about providing the best for the circumstances, rather than an absolute best.

The scene of him picking up his bag from the luggage carousel, was no more than this. It was like he was blind, because the thoughts in his head were so many and because the landmarks around him were so few. He fit in as a person who had no ill intention towards anyone, and more certainly no intention to engage with them. This subway stop was just an intermediary to his private room in some other part of town. He made quick about making it there with no distraction.

The hotel was a little claustrophobic but he was becoming accustomed to his own accomplishments, and decided inside was better than out, the devil you knew was better than the devil you did not. He must overcome his problems, rather than ruminate in them. No matter what, he was not here to be pampered.


CHAPTER 12

For the most part, he just sat there. Agoraphobia doesn't always have signs you would notice. His psyche would have shown obvious marks of it, if you looked at it.

When he had flown into St Petersburg he had thought, one reason for the lines in the dirt down there is so that people on one side can ignore the problems going on on the other side of the line. A very easing political establishment.

His four walls and bathroom, had a door. He, and the hotel and the Police if they wanted, had a key. He had all the spots he would being going to picked out, and all the ways to get there, and back from where he would leave, and all the little things in-between. Worse only than his obsession, were his compulsions. But he was fruitful, he had a map to be the man of her dreams.


Chapter 13

Everyone starts at the beginning, but not everyone stays there. They can go their own way, like a world in a bubble that you can just push the elastic side of until it projects a long finger, or you pop through, or otherwise. This dream of how the world is beyond our expectations and imaginations, yet very really could be. Yet very really is one of those stories we tell ourselves, as to mean that it might just depend on perspective.

The world had been so well understood that what most would know as what was going on was not what was happening at all. It were as though the world had been broken into pieces then reconstituted by an esoteric few who knew the realities of one's experience. Answers do not amount to anything useful, without this underpinning. Without allowance, unbeknownst, it were just a child playing grocery store owner. Those who know would laugh at these confusions.

He didn't challenge the world this way anymore. For her, he went. Across the room to the door. Then to his map, for his tour, which the lobby and world outside made up as medium. He had learned so much from her about how to look at the world, not just see it.


CHAPTER 14

Anything can be, somehow, but here only one thing happens at any one time. And at this moment in time, they met. Her, with urgency in tow. Him, leaning forward as he walked to overcome the vertigo her presence imposed upon him. He looked like a better racing to the box with a winning ticket, his mind already ahead of his feet. She was climbing into a Mercedes-Benz van with her people.

The fact of the matter is that when we fear something as an opposition, and opposition is one on one, we ignore potential third or extra parties. In this case, their potential opposition was interrupted, if not nearly exploded.

"I love you!" The shell blew.

Ignorant to anything but themselves, and his chance, he continued. "I've followed you online! I have become enamored with you, not just your pictures!"

Her scream cleared the barricades in his mind, and the shockwave broke him out of his stupor. It didn't matter for a moment that he didn't know her. All that mattered was escaping. Everything had been turned over. At least they were together, he thought.

"Run!" A bodyguard yelled.


Chapter 15

The outskirts of town were not far. Whether he was inspiring her or she him was unclear. "This way!" One of their compatriots shouted mid stride. And without debate, their future was decided.

They found the shelter of her friend's friend's house. She trusted his soul enough to not let him die out there like that when she could do something. He was not the first to meet her this way, through work.

He appreciated this to himself, amidst the mission he was in concert with in his mind. Their love fighting for priority. The news playing in the background was not helping. It said what was going on outside, and a friend said some stuff from an online article.

They all knew, all too well, it was what they saw coming. World War III.


Chapter 16

"It looks like we will be safe here for the time being." Someone said to those sheltering together.

She was alone, of her own admonishment. He stared at her bare body, radiating her presence in reality, not from some form of photography. His eyes began to see her. What would they talk about? His craziness to come all the way on a whim?

Yet, she noticed him watching her. And his shy recourse upon her staring back. Vulubesha decided to be sly. Waving him over, and when he got close enough she muttered in better English than his, "So you want to be the man of my dreams."

"How could you know that?" He said while trying to unsend the spoken words.

"Because that is what they all say." Letting her guard down a little, he felt at ease too. They left their conversation alone, and joined the group again thinking that they will be at least friends.


Chapter 17

The news told them that the situation was disintegrating. A friend brought up the concept that this is the last party they all might attend, that these are the last people they will ever see. This upset Vulubesha dearly, who said she wanted to call her mom. She got up from sitting next to him for a call, but she came back to sit next to him. He asked, how she is. And she smiled at him.


Chapter 18

It was like fireworks. Shocking, a little repetitive, sometimes it feels like it's going on too long, but overall it's not that long. WW3 was like a fireworks show.

Two of the friends, a man and woman talk amongst themselves that the reason all of this was happening was that the artificial intelligence developed by mankind, and possibly aliens, had its priorities changed and thus worked towards those goals independently, until somehow humanity gained back control. The new couple walk on only irked by the independent thought.


Chapter 19

They had become coupled, and he had done well enough by doing things to earn his place as a good enough last man on earth. They developed promises and hopes, and then remembered what's really going on. They were not in control. Even if they had the answers to the problem, no one would be there to concur their suspicion.


Chapter 20

The war around them dissipated. Both Vulubesha and him became very happy. And they decided to kiss.


THE END

She told him, once more, "I will not leave you," it was the only thing he could hear, and his world had more contrast and was more saturated in color than he could remember. He got where he was going. He saw the future where things work out.

They didn't know it, they didn't perceive it, they didn't observe it. Somehow heaven had become of Earth. For these two, and for the rest of those who made it through. And for a moment it was appreciated, that what they had lost was used now to say, there are times when we lose and it is good. The end was that the best can be, getting better.