Just Wrought

Meantime

 

 

You’re asleep. Dead unconscious. So in a way you aren’t anything.

There is a blast, or a flash. In any case a vast shock of everything. Now you are cold. Freezing. Parts of you are burning. The wind rips through you. You see darkness. Mostly. Falling fire punctuates it. And you are falling.

Ah right: you were in an airplane. But now you are being torn by the torrent of your downward spiraling. Dead soon.

What do you do in the meantime?

There’s always time left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Exit Interview

I ate lunch early out of sheer boredom again, so now, two hours later, only caffeine and the Clash are gonna get me through the afternoon doldrums. The jangling siren howl of “Police on my Back” blocks out any other sound, but I see him out of the corner of my eye at the entrance of my cubicle. I pull off my headphones.

“Hi Paul, can I talk to you for a second?

He is smallish, with glasses and sandy hair, a button down shirt and smart casual slacks. I have never seen him before in my life.

This is it. Is this it?