Celebration

[rejectomorph]

Flags are out at many houses, hanging limp in the hot, still air. In one place, a faint scent of freshly cut grass. Another place, the dank odor of mist drifting from a lawn sprinkler. Other than that, the day smells of dry, sun-baked soil and weedy brown fields. It is quiet, but for the chirping of a few birds and the occasional bark of a dog. Cars pass but rarely, making the evening seem like late night, or like some evening long past, when there were only a few houses scattered among the woods and orchards. It is as though half the town has gone away. In a while, I will hear the soft concussions of rockets exploding miles away, and perhaps the squeals and whistles of small fountains set off by a nearby lawbreaker or two. I think I'll make popcorn. Pop! Pop! Pop!

Comments

[rejectomorph]

From my backwater, it sounds more like a distant echo of Verdun.

But, are you the Antigoat? The one whose coming was foretold, who will lead the forces of Evil in the final battle against the forces of LiveJournal Rightousness led by The True Goat? And, if so, do I have time to delete some of my more self-incriminating posts before the apocalypse begins?

[antigoat.livejournal.com]

Portentous notions confirmed. I’ve been preparing for the day of reckoning by hoarding money through the Christian Children’s’ fund. 80 cents of every dollar goes straight to monetary needs of the armageddon.