The Whimper

"This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with zombies breaking down the back door."
Det er essensen af Corals historie. På en ferie i Berlin angribes hendes far af Hitlers forrådnede lig, og det er ikke engang en dårlig joke. Da hun skyder det zombie-agtige væsen i hovedet bruger den hendes far som skjold, og han er død på stedet.
Samtidig rejser de myrdede sig fra gravene i hele verden, og snart er civilisationen tabt.
Disse levende lig kan kun dræbes for bestandigt hvis man tager deres liv på samme måde som det blev taget første gang, og Coral har erfaret at det kan være noget af en udfordring. De få overlevende der er tilbage er spredt for alle vinde, og Coral vil kun være tæt på et menneske på jorden. Hendes fortabte, muligvis døde lillebror Clyde.
Dette varer dog kun til hun møder Ethan, der med sit konstant selvglade smil og sarkastiske attitude virkelig forstår at vække irritationen i Coral. Og muligvis også noget andet.

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1. The Hollow Men

The Hollow Men T. S.

Eliot Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men.

We are the stuffed men.

Leaning together, headpiece filled with straw.

Alas! Our dried voices, when we whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless as wind in dry grass.

Or rats’ feet over broken glass, in our dry cellar.

Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed with direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom 

Remember us—if at all—not as lost

Violent souls, but only as the hollow men.

The stuffed men.

 

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams.

In death’s dream kingdom.

These do not appear:

There, the eyes are.

Sunlight on a broken column.

There, is a tree swinging

And voices are in the wind’s singing more distant and more solemn,

Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer in death’s dream kingdom.

Let me also wear such deliberate disguises

Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves.

In a field, behaving as the wind behaves.

No nearer— Not that final meeting in the twilight kingdom.

 

III

This is the dead land.

This is cactus land.

Here the stone images are raised.

here they receive the supplication of a dead man’s hand.

Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this in death’s other kingdom?

Waking alone at the hour when we are.

Trembling with tenderness,

Lips that would kiss form prayers to broken stone.

 

IV

The eyes are not here

There are no eyes here

In this valley of dying stars

In this hollow valley

This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places

We grope together

And avoid speech

Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless

The eyes reappear

As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose

Of death’s twilight kingdom

The hope only Of empty men.

 

V

Here we go round the prickly pear

Prickly pear, prickly pear.

Here we go round the prickly pear at five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea and the reality.

Between the motion and the act -

Falls the Shadow.

For Thine is the Kingdom.

Between the conception and the creation.

Between the emotion and the response.

Falls the Shadow.

Life is very long.

Between the desire and the spasm.

Between the potency and the existence.

Between the essence and the descent. 

Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is Life is For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

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