Sighting

Sighting

I wake, facedown, in a pool of belligerent laughter. Smells like a funeral in here. Downtown, at a frigid altar, a silver-dipped saint I’ve never met whispers my name and lights a white candle. Dead insects gather like eviscerated hopes on the windowsills. I should clean up, but the filth fits me too well. As I raise my tangled head from the asphalt, I see a blurry figure on the dock, wearing a black trench coat, and carrying a steel briefcase. Somehow, I know it’s God. He’s finally decided to skip town, and he’s taking the Truth with Him. Now I’ll never find out what created this mudhole in my character.

Reviews

[dukovan]

really good stuff. It deals a lot with the feeling of blame, and where it should be directed. Intense emotion here, great prose.