![]() ![]() To my shock, I was in a wide field overgrown with weeds there was no sign of the community that had been there…”Īs I wander, I finally run into one of my classmates, now “a skinny old man with bushy white hair, wearing a loose deer skin.” And yes, whatever happened (that “great invasion”) while I was underground in - as anyone of that period would have known - a private nuclear-fallout shelter, is unclear. ![]() Realizing the risk I was taking, I carefully opened the hatch of the shelter and slowly climbed out. It was morning. After the great invasion, I was maintaining a peaceful, contented existence in the private shelter I had built and was completing the ninth and final volume of my masterpiece, The Influence of the Civil War on Mexican Art of the Twentieth Century, when I was seized by a strange desire to emerge from my shelter, have a look at the world, and find some companions. ENGELHARDT, world-renowned historian of the late twentieth century, should that mean anything to whoever reads this account. ![]() “First of all, let me introduce myself. I am THOMAS M. I am writing for those who shall come a long time from now. “Being an historian, I am jotting down these notes out of habit, but what I saw and experienced two days ago I am sure no one else as civilized as I am will ever see. It was written by some of my classmates in the year we graduated from Friends Seminary in New York City. Indulge me for a moment. This is how “The Prophecy” in my 1962 high school yearbook began. ![]()
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