Saturday, March 01, 2008
[So I'm a new member of the Zombie Squad and have been tackling serious issues like zombie biology and what swords are best for killing zombies. I joined because I am terrified of zombies. Sometimes our conversations become surprisingly philosophical so I've put some of my writings up here. Think of it as an answer to the questions that were never asked. Much like my entire life. The following was spurred by a discussion on the proper approach to an aggressive animal:]
The courts may decide the legality of any lethal incident that occurs, but in my heart and mind if I have to kill anything it is always my fault for not being smart enough to find another solution.
I have sort of a Vash the Stampede approach but it's more of a "What if I'm wrong?" approach.
I'm thinking that Lethal Weapon movie where he had to wear that racist sign around his neck.
I recommend my perspective because you'll be able to honestly say you tried everything else, and as a bonus you may figure out something incredibly badass, like the first person who ever punched a shark in the nose.
Also, I will not engage except to kill. I do not "fight." I have taken hits before because the person was not a lethal threat (usually just stupid) but I would feel terrible killing a stupid person.
At my college, I think about a year ago, a couple drunk idiots got in a fist fight over something ridiculous. They'd never met before. They take it outside, one guy throws a punch, the other guy falls and hits his head on the curb. Shortly after, he dies. Right, wrong, legal or not doesn't matter to the dead.
Weep for the enemy, because we put them to rest and we, the living, take up their burdens.
I nearly killed my dog after he attacked my sister. I felt his throat began to crack in my hand. I felt his life in my hand and I felt the torrent of rage that yearned to end him. I wept, then, at the cruelty of the world for putting us in this situation. Not a time to think about whose "fault" it was, just a time to act.
I didn't kill him then. I tended to my sister's injury. Took the dog for a long walk. Fed him some leftover steak. Sat with him for a while. Then we took him to the animal shelter and had him put down.
I was barely a teenager, but I knew, as one of the people responsible for my dog, that I had failed him.
Whoa, this got long. Just um, remember that dead is forever. Unless we're talking zombies here.
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