Begin in the Midst of the End

Sparked by, "Fill in the blank. Seven days ago, _____. Now, nobody will talk to me." -- The Pocket Muse

Seven days ago, the McCarthy Community Center was a hub for counsel meetings, kid’s karate lessons, Pilates for Seniors, book clubs, knitting clubs, ice cream socials, Zumba dance classes, and community barbeques. It was the central for news exchange, weather updates, and juicy bits of horrible gossip. Just yesterday Martha Simmons found out her husband of two years was cheating on his girlfriend of four years. And the day before that little Johnny pressed his cootie lips against Sally’s grape-flavored lip gloss. And last Christmas the entire Center had been nearly burned down by poorly wired Christmas decorations.

            Now, there isn’t a meeting to be had or a lesson to be held, or seniors to Pilate or books and knitting to club about. Ice cream and barbeque chicken would be left to rot in its place, had there been anyone to put it in its place in the first place. Martha Simmons is hiding in her basement and her husband is still sleeping in the garage. Johnny is on his way to Arkansas with his parents and Sally was left with a teddy bear. There will be no more Christmas trees to cause fires in Maplewood.

            A lot can happen in seven days. More can happen than anyone who has ever uttered that phrase could even imagine happening. In seven days, the world can change, for better or for worse. If anyone tells you that one person can’t make a difference, you tell them the story I’m about to tell you.

            I know things, misterma’am; things you don’t want to know. I’ve seen things you don’t want to see. I’ve heard things that’ll make your ears bleed and your bones shake. You’ve never met me, but I’ve met you. Chances are I’ve gotten up close and personal with one of you friends; or a friend of a friend of a friend. Or your mom’s doctor’s elderly uncle. This is your only reason to trust me: Your name is on my list. You can play ignorant to your heart’s content, but that will not play eraser. Every mark I make is permanent in the most pertinent of ways.

            I know what you’re thinking. I am the divine intervention. I am Krishna and Jesus and Buddha and the force of the Deist faith all rolled up in one. I know you’re thinking this and you’re wrong. I am not a force of any sort. I am more the consequences of your daily decisions, actions, and thoughts. I am not punishment or praise, but merely the outcome. You, and everyone around you, form my actions without any sort of consciousness.

So next time someone tells you one person can’t change nothing, you tell them they’re wronger than a naked mole rat in a snow storm. You tell them about Maplewood and ice cream socials and little Johnny. You tell them, because their gated community is next; because their London Bridge is about to come falling down. You tell them I’m coming and you tell them no government interference or divine prayer is going to save their immortal souls�"or sorry asses, as the case may be.

Author's Note

I didn't start playing with language until half way through the piece. I wasn't sure it was going to be first person. So, ignore stylistic inconsistancies.