Russell C. Goeins III

The Pulse

The Pulse, as it came to be known, took not only my family but also my memories of them. To speak their names is too painful. Even now, I refer to them as my wife and children, reducing them to mere nouns in the inner limits of my psyche. This trick makes the pain easier to suppress. I will not share the details of how they perished. I see no gain in others reliving my pain and anguish. What I will offer is a glimpse into the effects of such heartache. I am alone. Eaten alive by my disbelief (How could this happen?), my guilt (How could I let this happen?) and then the rage, the depression, and the helplessness. That is what I went through—what I am going through. My inability to save my family created in me an unquenchable wanderlust. I have become a post-apocalyptic man-shark, spending my nights traveling from place to place, never stopping, driven to survive. If I die, their memory dies with me. I cannot—will not—let them die a second death!