It is so very cold and pretty up here, close to space where the sky is black and I can see the stars. I do not feel like I am falling, but that I am floating like I am an angel above the clouds. I wish I had a harp so I could play pretty songs for the birds that fly far below; they are flying from the cold into the warm, like in the movie “The Day After Tomorrow” where they ran from ice and wolves. It would be nice to be a bird; they can fly up or down, left or right. They have total control. I am a train with no brakes.

It is amazing how bright the sun is when there is so little atmosphere. I wish I could stay up here forever, it is so peaceful. There is no sound but the shwoosh of the wind past my metal body. Shwoooosh. Hooray, I am falling.

I hope I like it when I get to where I am going. I feel like Red at the end of The Shawshank Redemption – “I hope the pacific is a blue as it has been in my dreams.” But I am not going to the ocean. I wish I could go to the ocean, like the birds can should they choose to. But I have to accept that I am not the master of my own destiny, I am a hydrogen bomb.

I don’t know why God made me a hydrogen bomb. I did not choose to be a hydrogen bomb nor would I have chosen if I had the choice. But I am grateful for what I am, and I am glad to have such a purpose, whether it is noble or evil, that is not for me to decide. Like everything else in this world I have no choice in the matter, like the tree that is chopped down to make the blades on a windmill or the oats that are cut to feed horses.

I am not writing much. This is the last time I will write from Something Awful in a while because I am a falling hydrogen bomb. Oh God I hope I don’t screw up.

– Tom "moof" Davies

More Front Page News

This Week on Something Awful...

  • Advanced Level Sexy Catcalls

    Advanced Level Sexy Catcalls

    Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.

  • Zagat's Guide to Poor Person Eating

    Zagat's Guide to Poor Person Eating

    The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'

Copyright ©2015 Rich "Lowtax" Kyanka & Something Awful LLC.