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How to Survive Nuclear Attack
Useful tips for surviving nuclear attack, dirty bombs, or suitcase nukes.

  American Hiroshima
School Shooting
Nuclear Winter
Bird Flu - Avian Influenza
Nuclear Attack
Honeybee Extinction
The Last Days


Our garden rain petunias have died but we waited until morning to notice.

We lay on the hill and counted the airplanes go by until night covered our bodies like a silk blanket and buried us in the grass. You said it was impossible to imagine the sky with three suns. Not impossible I said, but it would only be thrilling if imagined. Imagine, I said, if they were really there. Then it would be thrilling to imagine the sky with only one, you said.

Remember the day the constable knocked on our door and asked us if we had heard any noises outside? We had heard nothing but I was in my pajamas and you were upstairs taking a bath. That was the day rabbits played by the window.

Or maybe the grass was a bed that night lay upon. And so light as to not disturb us, it slept. And perhaps dreamed of us, and all that had happened to it as day.

You called airplanes 'chalker'. And I couldn't disagree with you or tell you otherwise because I saw the lessons too. Saw the letters and numbers and angles they drew to explain the wild flowers that grew from mama's head. But we never remembered the lessons. Better to forget them you said and continue to see things with wonder.

"You are my sword", I'd say.

To others it may have seemed that you ignored me, but I knew better because you'd ask me to tell you what I was thinking.

"What?" I'd ask. "What am I thinking?"

"You know", you'd say.

"I don't know", I'd say.

"Oh come on say it", you'd say.

"You mean what I say all the time?" I'd say.

"Yes, come on, just say it and get it over with", you'd say. "You know."

"I love you", I'd say.

And then you'd laugh and I'd shake my head and laugh a little bit too.

You said it's no fun to imagine just one sun when you've already imagined three. You're right, I said. Tomorrow three suns will rise in such a way that there will be no night. No, you said. Let them rise all at once and set all at once and that would allow things to be dreamed of. In the morning we'll tie a rope from one tree to the other and slide across it. Maybe the grass will sweep our feet clean so mama won't have to follow us around with the broom.

But that night as we lay upon the grass and forgot lessons we had learned earlier in the day we saw what night dreamed. A carousel of space between spinning horses. A cape and you in shoes too big. Us drenched in rain and laughing. And we looked at each other and giggled because it was what we wanted. It was what we always wanted. Joy. Pure, simple joy.

Mama opened the window to look at us and cried and I asked you why. Because she knows that one day we'll hear the noises outside, you said. But not yet. Tomorrow three suns will rise and it will be better than we ever imagined.


Sean Brijbasi's latest book Still Life in Motion was just published by PretendGeniusPress. He currently serves as a contributing editor of, the ineffable home of filth and genius. You may find more disinformation on him at

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