by Hazar Worth
Her breath had tasted like burnt, black coffee. Like the way her Grandmother would make it back on the farm when Winter blew cold.
The previous night, all of her remaining friends decided to take her out for the last time.
'Cheer up Judith.. Modern science won't give up... not yet...'
The words stopped having anymore meaning. She sat and watched. In their eyes, she saw their fears so clearly. In their faces, she saw their anger and confusion, melded into that puzzling smirk of alcohol, desperation, and at last courage.
'Bathroom time girls. I will be right back...'
She left her few friends to their rounds and shots. One of her friends, married and miserable for the last eight years, was sitting in a booth with another woman kissing her mouth, and copping some feels. The news had lost its impact months ago. No one felt a need to care anymore.
God Himself sat with His arms folded, waiting patiently ....
'There isn't any precedent for this.'
His words sounded bland and rehearsed. But she remembered how his eyes looked. No sympathy or fear made available. But with awe.
An awe that kept God waiting, patiently.
Her breath tasted like burnt coffee, made black and kept on the wood stove. She thought about the caw-caw of heckling crows before a long pause gathered her. Before the expotential functions of her brain broke its vows, and reassembled her biology into the magnificent kiss of a supernova.
(Over 20 years ago, Hazar Worth read the landmark graphic novel, 'Arkham Asylum' by Grant Morrison. From that moment, Hazar Worth understood his calling, and following the deep breadth of his imagination, has touched distant lands uncharted. His current Facebook series, 'Hosting', has been serialized by Frank Hinton, creator/founder/peerless leader of Metazen.ca. In his spare time, Hazar Worth pursues the insights and wisdom of hyperdimensions that occurs in the twilight of sleep-deprivation.)