Red Eye

Part Five

I've never really liked stories about the end of the world. It's not that I hate them. I mean, most of them are quite entertaining, if not a bit redundant. And then there's just the really outrageous, completely impossible ones like Sharknado that provide a good laugh. 

It's just... it's hard to explain. 

I mean, sure... the cinematic quality of these kinds of films is outstanding for the most part. Iconic scenes like the aliens blowing up the White House in Independence Day, the torrential flood and freezing over of New York in The Day After Tomorrow, the horde of zombies that overtake a town in... well... every one of those movies. 

I guess... when it comes down to it... the part that confuses me most is the guy at the center of all these apocalyptic events. The main character has such a drive, a willingness... they have this persistent and unwavering need to survive. And to a certain point, I totally get that it's easy for some of us to put ourselves in their shoes, to get wrapped up in the drama and suspense. And maybe a large part of it too is us trying to pretend we could be someone like this. Strong, determined, heroic. And of course when you're watching these epic moments, you want someone to root for, to cheer for. You want them to make it to the end... or at the very least, close to it.

How many times have we shouted at the screen, our cries of encouragement falling on deaf ears, as we tried to convince the main character to keep going? How many times have we threatened on social media to riot if our beloved hero were to be killed off? How many times have we pushed ourselves through a three, maybe even four-hour long movie or a completely jump-the-shark season of a show to see who survives at the very end of this epic journey?

We've all been there, myself included. 

But when you try to put all of these stories into context, when you try to rationalize the chaos despite how unrealistic that effort may be, my biggest complaint is how truthful are the writers being about the human condition.

I understand that when life gets you down, you need to convince yourselfto keep going, to keep moving forward. I get that everyone wants a happy ending. We need a happy ending.  In some cases, we deserve that happy ending. We've been conditioned from the start to end all our stories that way. But... why?

At some point, after weeks, months, years of going through some of the worst shit imaginable, we're supposed to believe people just keep going? I mean, fucking The Walking Dead has eleven whole seasons?! And not to mention all the spin-offs!!

Zombie apocalypse, alien invasion, deadly virus outbreak, shit- even climate change! At what point do we allow these people to just give up? When is it acceptable to just have the hero wander into the middle of an open field and just off themselves, just surrender to the monster they've been trying to escape? Are we, the audience, the captivated spectator, not allowed to watch them die? Must the writer restrain themselves that hard, pull back the pen from finalizing that kind of death?

Despite everything, despite how worthy they are of that kind of mercy killing, the hero has to keep fighting to the bitter end. Maybe even lose a limb or two. Watch everyone they've ever cared about or loved wither away or get ripped to shreds. They have to endure torment in its most cruel form, witness horrors at their most terrifying. They have to be the sole survivor of such a devastating disaster. They have to live long enough to become a hollow shell of who they used to be before their world turned upside-down. They have to be the proof that no matter what, there is still hope for the human race. 

Fuck that! 

Maybe this is my long dormant depression rearing its ugly head once again or the madness steadily creeping its way through me but what's the point of living when everything and everyone around you is dead?

Is it just to spit in the face of the guy upstairs? To give one giant middle finger to everything that tried to kill you along the way? To prove survival of the fittest is just a load of bullshit?

Not every fucking disaster is worthy of a happy ending. Sometimes, shit just gets worse.

It's funny how I'm in this situation now. If you had asked me how I would survive the end of the world, I would have laughed and told you I wouldn't. I wouldn't run, I wouldn't defend myself. Let the bastards eat me, probe me. Let the disease kill me slowly, let the hypothermia set it. It's not that I want to die, that's not what this is. I don't have a death-wish. 

I'm not being petty, I'm being pathetic. It's just... giving up makes more sense.

When the world turns to dust, just breath it in until you choke.