We should have lived like we were dying
It was always going to be a matter of time before we ran out of time.
It was so flawlessly cruel that it would give you the goosebumps. They chose September so that the retreating monsoon winds would carry the radioactive particles southward; they used Plutonium-239 warheads because they are much lighter than Uranium-235 and so missiles could take them further; they spiked the warheads headed towards our major cities with Tritium because adding just a few grams of Tritium increases the yield of the explosion by 300%.
No one saw it coming but everyone knew that it would be this way. They hadn’t built one hundred and ten nuclear bombs for deterrence; they had always been built for deliverance.
It didn’t matter that our ballistic missile defense shield stopped nearly half of their missiles, that in retaliation we used nineteen nuclear warheads launched from Sukhoi Su 30MKIs, thirty-one submarine-launched Agni 3SL missiles and sixty-five Prithvi surface-to-surface missiles to destroy their moth-eaten cities, when a AA battery-operated hair dryer would probably have sufficed.
Their ideology survived.
It didn’t matter that U.S. President John Boehner wept on live national TV, but it was huge on Twitter.
It didn’t matter that most of us had wasted our lives watching instead of living, defending instead of creating, trying to get a fuck instead of giving a fuck.
It didn’t matter that he died with his closet still unkempt, with three extra pounds of fat on his belly, and with the dining table still wobbly because his son had placed the screw-driver behind the bookshelf such that it could be seen but not reached.
He should have clicked on “Publish” instead of “Save.”
We should have lived like we were dying.
After the bombing of Hiroshima, many people fled to Nagasaki, only to be killed by the second bomb. Ten people survived both explosions.