NAVEL OPS 0800 HOURS
On mornings when I can’t stand it anymore I just want the apocalypse to kick off already. May the Jesus freaks turn out to have been right all along, apologies for every time I rolled an eye at some grey Kevlar-wearing guy heaving a ‘The End Is Near’ sandwich board. Cue the flood, the Pyongyang nuke fireworks, the giant asteroid. Every TV go all snowy, white noisy, blink, beam color bars with squeal drone. Burn my retina with visions of all humanity in a groan of metal bending, fire roasting, glass pulverizing. So fast and ferocious the grim reaper barely has time to put on his work clothes. But then fish eye dead, gray electricity cut see your dumb face open mouth in the convex glass.
Then I see my little girl’s face, my 9-yr-old daughter waking for school and it all stops. Now a breeze, young finches pecking seeds from an abandoned apple core on the deck.