The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is human… or if you like, you could use “humanity.”
I crest a ridge under a moonless night and am nearly blinded by the fires.
Whole neighborhoods are in flames, roiling pyres in various shades of oranges and yellows. It is hell on Earth. Created by our own hands, sponsored by Pepsico and brought to you with limited commercial interruption.
I strip myself from the sweaty chemical gear, the heat drying my moist skin instantly. I'm nude as the day I came in and it feels good.
I dig into my ruck, pull out some tins, the Beluga caviar, the Petrossian pate and the duck confit, toss open a red-checkered tablecloth. I arrange a picnic lunch as black soot falls like snowflakes across the landscape. Next to the bottle of Petrus Pomerol merlot – yes, the ’99 – I place a Glock 30 and two extra clips of .45-caliber ACP.
Just in case.
It’s the end of the world as we know it, humanity’s final hurrah, and I just want to enjoy it in peace and quiet.
conversations with myself
2 hours ago