The gale, it plies the saplings double,
It blows so hard, ’twill soon be gone:
To-day the Roman and his trouble
Are ashes under Uricon.
Id est, in five years I'll have forgotten the outrages of the person in question as thoroughly as I'd forgotten the Key fics petronia so casually mentioned today, thereby spiralling me back to the late 90s where I have no desire to be. Doesn't help that I've spent the weekend ativanned for a migraine and tidying files from the *early* 90s. The things that the mind buries... Yanno, the only zombie fic I'd read is one where it's the past that comes back, intent on slaughter, and not any mere once-human.