Monday, April 13, 2009
On the Terrace
There should have been an earthquake. Howling. Instead, there was only silence and a heat-drugged landscape, indolent under the heavy air. When the storm came it battered down relentlessly, washing all those words - everything that was ever said on that terrace - into the churning mud below. She watched as the crushed flower petals swirled over the edge, falling like tears at a grave, and thought, So this is how the world ends - without even a memorial to mark its passing.