My hair whipped through the cold, coastal air as I sped South from the bay in some poor Joe’s vintage Shelby GT. The immense fire in the rear view mirror blazed like no other – flames rose higher than the tallest peak of what was left of the Golden Gate bridge. Though it was long before my time that the bridge was actually considered Golden in all of its red glory – it had fallen into disrepair after Decimation and became quite the antithesis of its name – the flames sparked an irony … that only during its destruction does it resemble anything close to what it used to be.

The destruction of the legendary Golden Gate Bridge would trigger another panic. Authorities were already investigating the scene. People were already recording the chaos and spinning their own take on what happened. There was one thing they all shared in common – they didn’t know who was behind it. They had ideas … but the mystery older built momentum – momentum as powerful as a vintage Shelby GT.

While they watched the towering flames consume the oh-so legendary bridge, they failed to look up … look around as a mysterious figure passed by, snagging a set of keys on the way, and head away from the scene. That’s what’s wrong with people these dark days – they’re all rubber neckers with out the slightest idea of what ‘s really going on at any given moment.

Not me. My eyes are wide open. I am alive and I realize that when the time comes I won’t be aware that I’m already dead.

I couldn’t help but glance back at the glowing bridge with a smirk.

IMAGE CREDIT