Apocalyptic River
We picnicked by the sullen river, its water brown, opaque and dense enough for starving frogs to flop across. I offered you a slice of Sunbeam bread, the last unsoiled food we had. You chewed it out of spite, my routine generosity taken as offense. Whenever one of us moved the weatherworn table creaked and shifted. What good is money to us now? you sighed. Or fidelity? I pretended not to hear, staring at the splinters that hung like fingerlings along your pale, freckled arms. We had nothing worth keeping. Night began prematurely, as it does these days, with rain.
Photo Credit: Beret Olsen
I agree with both comments a great portrayal of depressing thoughts.
Whoa! I suspect this will get my award as “least-cheery” thing I’ve read all day. Well done, though, I must say.