They came
through town last night, burning through some sort of plane no one really
thought was there. I’m afraid no one
remembers exactly what happened, except for me.
I asked a few of the clerks about it, and they thought I was crazy. Go
figure.
The sky had
looked a bit different that morning. Almost like it was on fire, but not quite.
I’d seen that happen before, but it still came with a kind of ominous feeling
you only get once in a lifetime.
At
7:13 last night, the town lit up with
the overwhelming lamentations of every single, sad motherfucker in the
town. My mind was full of fire, singular
demons of incense, ancient Coptic incantations sang by inside out raccoons, and
a chain reaction of things that never made sense. There aren’t any words for
some of the things we saw, or I think we all saw.
What else
would have caused that screaming? They all matched my fear. Everyone in the
town. It was glorious, in its own way. I don’t know if that is even believable,
though. I wish I could tell you more about it.
The only
thing I found that could have been any evidence of their awful visit was a
crystal vase full of white roses. They were dead, of course. My mind scarcely
survived their presence; the roses didn’t stand a chance.
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