Wednesday, October 29, 2014

White Roses

            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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