Michael runs through his front yard, two hands raised above his head in
a virtual gun pattern (his left hand shaped like a gun and his right
hand supporting the grip). He imitates kickback, launches his hand
backwards, and makes sounds of explosions with his thin, five-year-old
lips. His eyes glimmer with excitement.
--
Michael awakes to the sound of freight trains running by his window.
The shadows are crooked. The light is fragmented. Michael stands; his
shadow stands on one foot, arms waving to maintain balance. Outside his
window, far above in the blue twilight, the sun dangles, swiveling to
and fro like a yo-yo at the end of its string. It spins like a coin.
It’s as flat as paper.
The children gather. Their eyes glimmer. Their fists shoot up in
victory as the thread breaks and the sun falls into the ocean. They
have won.
"Pre-pubescent Apocalypse" by Jon Hodges, Copyright 1999
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