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From Speck to Star
We watched it get closer for months from a nothing to a speck to a star. Still, it continued to grow. The scientists said it would be a near-miss. We’ve come to far, to be so wrong. They must have known the direness hurtling toward us, The 6:00 news did not report it. We went to meaningless jobs. We spent time trodding through chores we hated. We did not hold our loved ones tighter. We did not fear the reaper.
What difference would it have made? What would you do if you knew if the end was near?
I’d want to be with my people across the world, and they’d want to be with their people, who would want to be with their people, endless rings. How wide our nets have become.
Would we all be waiting to die with Kevin Bacon?
The meteor tore through the atmosphere breaking apart into millions of pieces as it did. The ozone hole had healed in time to be rebroken. Flaming rocks lit up the sky in reds and oranges with hot spots of violet and blue. Lava poured from the sky. The dragon eye reflection in the lake below stared up with love as all living things turned to ash around it. Trees shriveled to trunks while branches raced after leaves they’d never catch. Humans with hands on hips would have left flash bomb shadows if there were any stones left to capture them. They melt into a white river clearing the canvas for the era that comes next.
Would farmers stop farming?
A masked being comes to usher the souls to another realm, while winged angels lick away their pain as they go. That realm of bright white light peeks through. It is the stillness in the storm. It is the peace of drowning at the bottom of the pool when the bubbes of chaos have stilled and the calm of knowing enters.
Would artists stop art-ing?
If you can sit in the eye of the hurricane and see the sun shine through a blue sky. You’ll know the feeling. All the trials you’ve gone through to get to this moment of peace. You’ll know that the back half won’t spare you. Reaching the summit is only half of the journey.
Would mothers stop mothering?
No, mothers even on their worst days still mother, and this was the worst of days.
10-19 400 words, many more culls, rearrangements and skipping around than I am used to.
