by Carson Margedant

Created on: December 07, 2008

It came on a Wednesday. We all thought we would meet the new age with fear and anger. We didn't expect the laughter. On December 21, 2012 time ceased. With no rational measure or perceived placement of points in motion life continued. People died and people were born and on more than one occasion people celebrated their fifty-fifth birthday before they were born. We watched our friends die and then we promptly took the recently unceased out drinking to celebrate their eventful lives. There we stood stripped of watches and calendar, looking into the naked here-eternal. We could do nothing but smile.

We...were...happy! I met my father and I have to say he was a great man in more than just bravery. I knew prior that he was brave. He had died of smoke inhalation after leading his entire office out of a burning building. I was three then. What I did not know was that he had the type of brilliance that could juxtapose two complicated thoughts into a perfectly straight line and arrive at somewhere.... beautiful. He had written papers that were beyond the thoughts of two legs and an urge to breed. He wrote on the level of just plain truth. That port still lingers on my tongue as I remember that evening,

There was no war. There was still violence but it was impossible to turn those short exclamations into a long drawn out conflict without a timeline to operate in. The psychopaths among us found themselves in their own personal Valhalla. I remember one day, Carl, a friend of mine, took a beautiful Franciscan throwing axe that he had just plucked off a battlefield and gave my head some very noticeable cleavage. Next day we awkwardly exchanged pleasantries over a pizza. Let me tell you an axe through the head hurts like, well it's peerless in that respect. It was nothing compared to realizing that your murderer is not really a bad guy. He's just another guy that's been released of all those practical concerns. Heard he's pretty good in a fight now. Best of luck to the man, he certainly paid his dues. Must of seen his dead body a good twenty times.

Most of my friends were more laid back than that, like George. On December the twentieth he was eight years old. When I met him he was more...mature. Of course I'm not quite sure if any of us really aged during our absence. Maybe we just kinda decided when we want to be. I sure didn't go into the void with this goatee but can't imagine shaving it. Anyways George is a good guy and you would probably like him. We'd get hungover,

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