We laugh at the mad prophet, smelling of urine, arms akimbo, bird’s nest hair.
“Tomorrow,” she bellows, “all stories will end. Repent. Cast off your apathy.”
When we spilled out of the pub a moment ago, she alarmed us with a caterwaul. Now, the others mock her. Pull the other one, they say, what do street preachers know?
Suddenly, I think we should listen. Her eyes hold truth. She grabs me by my coat.
“Please,” she pleads, her tone pathetic. “Your indifference is bringing the great nothing.”
First light and I giggle at believing her. Life will –
Writing begun in September (I let it rest) | 98 words