David Jacobs' Nightmare
Bruce L. Priddy
She parked her car behind his and ran into the Kentucky wheat field, calling his name. The aurora borealis writhed across the sky, thousands of miles lost. A city killing itself glowed on the horizon. It fought the aurora to see who could gobble up the most stars. She saw him by the light of their battle, looking up.
“It's the end, isn't it? Of the world.”
He did not take his eyes off the dying stars. “No. The beginning of a new. There are always birth pangs. Blood and pain,” he said with the calmness of expectation, want.
The frightened Earth shuddered beneath their feet. They held each other up and did not let go when it calmed. “I knew you'd come,” he said.
“I had no where else to go. It's not safe anywhere,” she said.
“It's safe here.”
Over his shoulder she saw the city on fire. “Is it?”
He told her again about the creatures with eyes of infinite black that came to him as a teenager, who crawled across his bedroom floor on all fours and the promises they whispered to him. “This is where they told me to be,” he said.
“I thought I'd be too late. I thought they already took you.”
“Who? Them or,” he pointed a finger to the violent sky, turquoise and pink. “...them?”
“Either,” she said against his chest. “They say it's your fault, that the abductees are causing this. They're rounding people up.”
He sighed disappointment. “They're losing control. People are scared and they are looking for someone to blame. Clinging to power with scapegoats.”
“When all this started, Mike Carter shot up his office. Julie Wright drowned her kids. Tim Robinson's mom ran him over with a lawnmower. They were all abductees.”
“They're people. And when people are frightened they will do frightening things. Doesn't matter if they are abductees or just normal people.”
She looked up at him, touched his face. “Just tell me you're okay. Promise me.”
He looked into her eyes and watched the aurora dance in them. He saw her run from him. Their chase would down a crop-circle. He'd catch her in the middle, pull her down by her hair and punch her in the face until his fists met the soft dirt behind her head.
He crushed her to him. “I promise.”
- - -
Bruce L. Priddy is a writer and single father living in Louisville, KY. Raccoons get in fights in his attic. Buy him a vodka-tonic if you are ever in town.
Bruce L. Priddy
She parked her car behind his and ran into the Kentucky wheat field, calling his name. The aurora borealis writhed across the sky, thousands of miles lost. A city killing itself glowed on the horizon. It fought the aurora to see who could gobble up the most stars. She saw him by the light of their battle, looking up.
“It's the end, isn't it? Of the world.”
He did not take his eyes off the dying stars. “No. The beginning of a new. There are always birth pangs. Blood and pain,” he said with the calmness of expectation, want.
The frightened Earth shuddered beneath their feet. They held each other up and did not let go when it calmed. “I knew you'd come,” he said.
“I had no where else to go. It's not safe anywhere,” she said.
“It's safe here.”
Over his shoulder she saw the city on fire. “Is it?”
He told her again about the creatures with eyes of infinite black that came to him as a teenager, who crawled across his bedroom floor on all fours and the promises they whispered to him. “This is where they told me to be,” he said.
“I thought I'd be too late. I thought they already took you.”
“Who? Them or,” he pointed a finger to the violent sky, turquoise and pink. “...them?”
“Either,” she said against his chest. “They say it's your fault, that the abductees are causing this. They're rounding people up.”
He sighed disappointment. “They're losing control. People are scared and they are looking for someone to blame. Clinging to power with scapegoats.”
“When all this started, Mike Carter shot up his office. Julie Wright drowned her kids. Tim Robinson's mom ran him over with a lawnmower. They were all abductees.”
“They're people. And when people are frightened they will do frightening things. Doesn't matter if they are abductees or just normal people.”
She looked up at him, touched his face. “Just tell me you're okay. Promise me.”
He looked into her eyes and watched the aurora dance in them. He saw her run from him. Their chase would down a crop-circle. He'd catch her in the middle, pull her down by her hair and punch her in the face until his fists met the soft dirt behind her head.
He crushed her to him. “I promise.”
- - -
Bruce L. Priddy is a writer and single father living in Louisville, KY. Raccoons get in fights in his attic. Buy him a vodka-tonic if you are ever in town.
0 Responses
Post a Comment
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
