>> I don't write a lot of horror, but when I do, it tends to spook people for real. Blood and guts, meh. I'm more likely to go for things that create a real sense of wrongness. <<
You succeeded brilliantly with this piece. It probably helps that I have memories of driving around our metro area in mid-December 2006, after the windstorm that took out ALL the power electricity in a 20+ mile radius. Some areas were without power electricity for a week or more. Seeing miles and miles of human habitations all dark, with nobody on the streets, was unsettling in a way I'll never forget.
>> The first time somebody fired this weapon, it took them a while to figure out what was happening and why. <<
SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT! *THIS* wasn't the first time?! *shudder* Part of me wants to ask, and another part does *not* want to know. Gonna go with the latter on this.
My favorite part of the poem is when Granny Whammy took off her Purple Heart and Medal of Valor and put them *inside* the corpse of the (as yet) unknown hera. The solemnity of the gesture, and the weight of meaning to it, really impressed me.
I'm wondering, *will* we ever find out the name of that hera? Somebody *somewhere* must have personnel records for the facility; they should at least be able to narrow it down to a handful of people, right? I can see how they might not be able to identify the exact person, if whatever that lethal device was obliterated all the DNA along with the soft tissue.
Overall, I find the piece... sobering, but not disturbing or devastating. Perhaps my life experience "buffers" me in ways that others don't have the benefit of.
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dancing_serpent
impressions of starkness
Date: 2016-10-12 06:10 am (UTC)You succeeded brilliantly with this piece. It probably helps that I have memories of driving around our metro area in mid-December 2006, after the windstorm that took out ALL the
powerelectricity in a 20+ mile radius. Some areas were withoutpowerelectricity for a week or more. Seeing miles and miles of human habitations all dark, with nobody on the streets, was unsettling in a way I'll never forget.>> The first time somebody fired this weapon, it took them a while to figure out what was happening and why. <<
SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT! *THIS* wasn't the first time?! *shudder*
Part of me wants to ask, and another part does *not* want to know. Gonna go with the latter on this.
My favorite part of the poem is when Granny Whammy took off her Purple Heart and Medal of Valor and put them *inside* the corpse of the (as yet) unknown hera. The solemnity of the gesture, and the weight of meaning to it, really impressed me.
I'm wondering, *will* we ever find out the name of that hera? Somebody *somewhere* must have personnel records for the facility; they should at least be able to narrow it down to a handful of people, right? I can see how they might not be able to identify the exact person, if whatever that lethal device was obliterated all the DNA along with the soft tissue.
Overall, I find the piece... sobering, but not disturbing or devastating. Perhaps my life experience "buffers" me in ways that others don't have the benefit of.