This why we should have an emergency kit; a dream.

It’s coming—the end of civilization. In slow motion we see ships dropping from the sky, big barges, cruise ships, aircraft carriers, dropping on far-off cities, huge bursts of orange coming closer and closer. This is why we should have an emergency kit. In order to escape, we must flee to the fringes of the continent, to the costal edges of human reign.

We are swimming in black water, amid big blocks of floating ice. Casey is lighting the way intermittently with a cell phone. There is movement beneath us. I hear my breathing; loud, raspy panting. We follow the shoreline, where in the flickering light I can see shadowy objects of worship—gaunt Jesus, strung up on the cross, tarnished virgin Marys, looking up into the nothingness, eyeless skulls from worshippers of Santa Muerte—they send shivers all through me. I feel Casey’s body next to mine and search it’s presence for some sense of comfort.

Later there is a big washed up ship tilted on it’s side and a beautiful woman living amongst still corpses with a man whose wealth now means nothing. They sleep behind a curtain. Later the water dries up, and we retrace our steps across the debris-strewn shores of a huge, curving bay.

photo credit: wakalani via photopin cc

This is a snapshot a wish I could have taken:

I.

Your brown shoulders arched above the valley of your smooth neck;  your skin is shimmering with tiny white hairs smoothed like far away wheat. Your chin is resting against my chest and my fingers are in your hair.

II.

Your hand resting against my thigh as we drive through the dark redwoods. My elbow leaned against the center console, and Mishka's face, soft with sleep, propped in the intersection of our arms.