End of Days
By Chris Carrel
It is a pleasure to disappear to vanish from your own head to become a body again driven only by the electrical impulses that surf the wires and waves beneath the skin strum the chords tap the keys keep walking eyes wandering thoughts a hazy dream not to worry about the inevitable the return of the mind and the all-seeing I the thoughts that lash you to the mast tie you to the worries the bank account the zeroes in your debts the way she looks at you now or doesn’t the invisible conversations you’re sure they’re having at work all the ways you are going to die even being tied to a rock as an eagle gnaws through your liver would be better than this would take the worries away and give you something else but that’s the problem with the Apocalypse it’s all worry worst case scenario bitch and moan and then it never comes but once it does you will realize how much time you wasted worrying about the wrong things.
Chris Carrel writes speculative fiction and other odd things from somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. He has been published at Literally Stories and Dark Winter Lit, among others, with work forthcoming at The Fabulist. He posts at ccarrel.bsky.social and stares agog at this janky dystopia at thechriscarrel.com.
Poetic